


Man of the Hour

by hardlyfatal



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Extremely Slow Burn, F/M, Modern Era, Mutual Pining, No for real, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, perhaps better rendered as sllllloooooooooooooooooooow buuuuuurn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2019-10-20 16:04:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 76,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17625488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlyfatal/pseuds/hardlyfatal
Summary: Brienne gives up on love just in time for love to move in next door. Suddenly, the girl who rescues everyone has someone rescuing her. He's gorgeous, needy, sweet, funny... the ideal man, really, or at least the ideal man for her.Too bad he doesn't actually exist.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AsbestosMouth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsbestosMouth/gifts).



> So the title of this story, and the inspiration for it in a vague way, is the song ["Man of the Hour" by Norah Jones](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=syeoXPPnw3c), which I happen to be able to sing really well. *pats self on back*  
>    
>  ANYWAY. The first chapter is more of a prologue, so it's short, but all the others are minimum 3000 words, never fear. I'll be updating weekly, on Fridays. It might not shake out to 15 chapters exactly, might be a few more.  
>    
>  18 million thanks to Mikki (ikkiM) and sea_spirit for their tireless support and help by betaing. A few million more thanks to the ladies of JBO (and any gents who might lurk within) for their friendship and advice. The adoration of a thousand suns to AsbestosMouth just for existing.  
>    
>  I hope you enjoy this story! Thank you for reading!

“It’s him or me,” said Hyle, pointing with an outraged finger at Tormund, who only gazed blearily at the other man and Brienne.

She looked back and forth between them: at stringy, malnourished Hyle in his hipster glasses and plaid scarf, and Tormund in dirty jeans and ragged marijuana-leaf t-shirt. She was supposed to choose between a vegan and a pothead?

With a sigh, Brienne dragged her gaze from the two men to the animals at her feet. The six ducklings were vying to all sit on her feet at the same time. Edgar the dog smiled up at her and held up a paw for shaking. Bruce the cat gave her what she was sure was a commiserative glance. Tubby little Rosy the goat bleated up at her as if to say, “Mama, who deese men?”

“Bugger that!” exclaimed the parrot, Jackson Polly, and it pretty well summed up Brienne’s feelings on the issue.

 _I choose_ _you_ _,_ she thought to the animals. _You’re not stoned out of your minds all the time, and most of you eat meat._

“Bugger that!” she echoed the parrot. “You can both leave.”

After they had gone, Brienne sagged into her lumpy old sofa, covered herself with animals, and let out a deep sigh of relief.

And that was how Brienne gave up on men altogether.

 ~*~

“I’m giving up on men,” she informed Sansa the next day.

They were in the park with most of the menagerie that had taken over Brienne’s apartment, and her cousin, Sandor, was in the middle of the lawn trying to teach Edgar how to catch a frisbee even though the dog had lost some vision and depth perception along with his right eye.

Sansa was holding up the cat, Bruce, so he stood on his hind leg – just the one, as Brienne had had to amputate the other after Bruce lost a battle with a minivan – and made his forelegs wave around so he looked as if he were dancing. Bruce and Brienne exchanged a glance of long-suffering. It was not always easy to love Sansa, unless you were Sandor Clegane, and then it was apparently the simplest thing in the world.

Sansa looked up from where she was making poor Bruce do the Wildling Fling and laughed. “You say that all the time, but you break up with Hyle and date Tormund, then break up with him and go back to Hyle…”

“No, this time, I mean it,” said Brienne. Sansa’s russet eyebrows flicked upwards, asking without words what had happened. Brienne squinted out over the park against the fading gleam of the late spring sunset. “I’m tired of settling. It’s just… not going to happen for me.”

“You’ve been settling for far too long,” Sansa declared. “So did I. But I decided to stop searching for him, that he would find me. And he did.” She gazed out at Sandor’s antics with Edgar, her eyes warm and lips curled in a gentle smile. “One day, your prince will come. And then _you_ will come.” She punctuated the sentiment by waggling those eyebrows in a manner that was, frankly, alarming.

“I am not discussing this with you,” sniffed Brienne, but couldn’t keep the tiny grin from curling her lips.

“You will! It worked for me. I only found my prince once I stopped looking. It’ll be the same for you.”

“I have no prince,” Brienne replied gloomily. “I’ll be forever alone.”

It was said with dramatic flair, so Sansa knew she was joking, but… Brienne wasn’t really joking. She was positive there was no one out there for her. She wasn’t all that upset about it; more upsetting to put up with the men who would abide a woman of her looks and size, how they treated her like they were doing her a favor and expected her to wait on them and show her gratitude for their ‘generosity’.

“No, you will not be forever alone. I’ll make one of my brothers marry you. Or Theon.”

“Okay, so, first: Jon’s dating the moon goddess--”

“Oh, you have to stop calling her that. She’s only pale. _You’re_ pale. You have no room to throw stones.”

“–and I have been close friends with Robb to the point where he’s just as much my brother as yours, by now. There’s no way I’m risking that, and our work relationship. Besides, if he had any interest in me, he’d have said something years ago.”

Sansa opened her mouth to argue, but Brienne stepped swiftly into the breach to continue.

“And there is no way in any of the seven hells I’d date Theon. No more stoners.”

Sansa pouted, muttering, “But he’ll share his stash with you. He’s very generous.”

“No more stoners!”

“Okay! Fine!” said Sansa, holding up her hands in surrender. “No stoners. No Robb. No Jon. That leaves–”

“I am not dating Bran or Rickon.”

“But--”

“ _I am not dating Bran or Rickon_.”

Sansa scowled out at where Sandor was lavishly praising Edgar in spite of the dog’s complete inability to come within five feet of the frisbee. “I’ll think of someone,” she said, her tone ominous.

Brienne rolled her eyes and gave up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad you liked chapter 1, despite how short it was. From now on, everything is 3000+ words. Please enjoy this one and let me know what you think!

.

~*~

.

Brienne squinted at the caller ID— ‘Sansational’, it read; Sansa must have gotten into her phone and changed her name in the contacts. Again.

“Didn’t you just leave here five minutes ago?”

“I’m about to drive away, but I saw your new neighbor as I was leaving and had to let you know that he is _hot_.”

A notification popped up to indicate she’d been texted a photo called ‘omgdatass.jpg’. Sighing, Brienne tapped on it to find a lopsided snapshot of a man from the back. He held a leash, at the end of which was a gorgeous golden retriever, clearly pedigreed, and the man… even from behind, she could tell that he was pedigreed, as well, from a long line of improbably attractive people.

Tall, with wide shoulders and slim hips, his snug T-shirt revealed the rippling swells of his biceps, and his even-snugger jeans showcased a backside that absolutely deserved the use of Sansa’s “omgdatass”. He had longish blond hair that curled around his ears in the most adorable way, and a strong neck that Brienne could well imagine herself licking.

“Oh, his dog is beautiful!” Brienne exclaimed instead, more to drive her friend crazy than anything else.

“Are you for real?” Sansa demanded. “Forget the dog, look at the man. And his ass.”

“What a beauty!”

“That’s the spirit!” said Sansa, sounding elated.

“Her fur is gorgeous!”

Sansa sighed. Brienne could almost hear her shoulders slumping. “You’re hopeless.”

Brienne sighed, too. “There’s no point to keep trying to fix me up with tens. I’m a three at best. Threes don’t get tens. Threes barely get sixes, and then only if the sixes have _issues_.” She looked at the photo again. “And this guy is a seventeen, at least.”

“How dare you? I would never be friends with a _three_ ,” Sansa huffed into the phone. “I have _standards_ , Brienne. _High_ ones. You owe me an apology.”

“For Stranger’s sake, Sansa, I’m not apologizing because you’re delusional—”

“You are at least a seven.”

“–or blind or whatever your problem is.”

“La la la la, I can’t hear youuuuuu…” Sansa singsonged.

Brienne pinched the bridge of her nose. “Just stop, okay?”

“I won’t stop until you’re as happy as I am with my schmoopy bear,” declared Sansa.

Brienne blinked, horrified. “Does my cousin know you call him that?”

“Yeah, he haaaaaaaates it,” said Sansa, and gave a rather evil-sounding giggle before hanging up.

Brienne opened the text conversation she had ongoing with her cousin and saw that Sansa had changed his name, too. _And_ Brienne’s.

 

> Brielliant: schmoopy bear? 4 real?
> 
> Sandorable: fucksake
> 
> she promised she wouldnt tell any1
> 
> Brielliant: shes a menace
> 
> she changed our names in my phone
> 
> ur sandorable
> 
> Sandorable: fucksake
> 
> u need to get her under control
> 
> Sandorable: like thats possible
> 
> how well has it worked 4 u all these years?
> 
> Brielliant: …
> 
> Sandorable: xactly
> 
> Brielliant: …

.

~*~

.

“Hold the elevator!”

Brienne stuck her hand between the closing doors of elaborately figured brass and they sprang apart. Her tote bag wriggled a little; she secured it on her shoulder and stepped back in preparation for company.

“Thanks!” said a male voice, a little breathless, and a golden retriever entered the tiny space with her, followed by its owner jogging to keep up with it. “Penthouse,” he continued to her, since she was closest to the panel of floor buttons, then muttered “oh” when he saw the P already lit up.

Brienne looked at him, down at the dog, and up at him again. It was the new neighbor about whom Sansa had rhapsodized a few days earlier. He was facing her, so unfortunately her ability to scope out his backside was hindered, but she had a clear view of his face, and…

Sansa’s photo hadn’t done him justice. He’d been squinting into the sun, in it, and in quarter profile so only a perfectly sculpted cheekbone and knife-edge jawline had been visible, aside from an artless tumble of wheat-gold hair. Full-face, in normal light, he was breathtaking. His eyes were a clear and brilliant green she’d only ever seen in a cat before. She didn’t know human eyes came in that color.

She’d been wrong, texting with Sansa. He wasn’t a seventeen. He was a 26. Maybe a 33. Or higher. _Wow._ Brienne averted her gaze to the dog. Much safer.

“So you’re the new neighbor,” she told the dog, and squatted down to be at eye level with the beast, holding out a hand to sniff. “You’re a beautiful baby, yes, you are! What’s your name, beautiful baby?”

“She doesn’t do much talking,” the dog’s owner said, sounding amused, “so I act as her spokesperson.”

Brienne glanced up and was glad for the elevator wall close at her back, so when she tipped backwards in surprise she didn’t fall on her ass, because he was smiling and it made her feel kind of dizzy.

“Ah,” she said stupidly. “So what’s her name?”

“Cersei,” replied the man. “After my sister, who is also a bitch.”

Brienne blinked at that, not expecting it, but also not too surprised. There seemed to be something about her that had people revealing their various dysfunctions within a few minutes of meeting her. Though this might be a record; it hadn’t been even a minute and already this dude had revealed that his relationship with his sister was fraught with problems.

Something must have shown on her face; his own shifted from a sort of sardonic humor to chagrined in a trice. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t usually blab about family issues with strangers.”

Cersei was beginning to find something sniff-worthy in the tote bag, so Brienne flapped a hand in dismissal at his words and stood. “It’s fine,” she said. “I’m the world’s psychotherapist, for some reason. I should start charging for it, I’d be a… a thousandaire, at least.”

He smiled again, but it was a little confused. “Making a few thousand extra shouldn’t be an issue for you,” he said, “if you’re on the top floor, too.”

The elevator dinged and the doors parted to reveal the building’s penthouse story. Brienne flapped another dismissive hand.

“I inherited the rent control from my grandmother,” she told him. “Gotta love it.”

He and Cersei preceded her from the elevator, and at last she had the opportunity to evaluate his butt. Brienne had to give Sansa credit; she knew a quality ass when she saw it. This guy’s might be the best Brienne had ever seen, and she added another five to his number; that butt made him a 38, at a minimum. Brienne dragged her eyes off it, for fear he’d catch her scoping him out, and concentrated on digging her keys out of the tote bag, which grunted and snuffled at her fingers.

“We’re almost there,” she whispered to the tote bag, chancing a glance up and finding, to her dismay, that he was watching her, his eyes widening. “Um,” she said, but gave up on saying more. He’d find out for himself soon enough, if he stayed in the hallway much longer.

She made for her own apartment at the far end of the hallway. There were four units on the penthouse floor: hers, Olenna Tyrell’s, the perpetually vacant one, and now this fellow’s. Her door was painted like the old Tarth heraldry, parti-color blue and rose with sickle moon and blazing sun painted with care in silver and gold during one of Brienne’s more fanciful moods. Thanks to Sansa, the door’s perimeter was framed with fairy lights on an automatic timer so that, this time of the evening, the whole thing was lit up, a warm welcome to her every time she returned.

… _another_ warm welcome, that was. A pre-welcome to what would greet her as soon as she stepped inside.

“Ah,” he said as she unlocked her door, “I was wondering who lived there.”

She glanced at him. “Was it the heraldry or the lights that grabbed your attention?”

“Both,” he said. He had an expression that was halfway between amused and puzzled. It was not the first time it had been aimed at her. Brienne was used to it, by now.

She braced for impact, as she swung the door open, and just in time: the animals all came at her at once, eager for attention, convinced she’d deserted them forever since she’d been gone so long. The racket was deafening: meowing, barking, quacking, bleating… the parrot couldn’t leave his spacious cage so contented himself by shouting “What the fuck’s a Lommy?” in a credible imitation of Sandor’s raspy voice from the far corner of the living room.

Everyone clustered around so closely that she couldn’t get inside. As she bent over to pet them all in turn, Rosy decided that was the perfect moment for a welcome-home headbutt to Brienne’s knee, with the result that she fell off-balance onto her ass. It was perfect for their purposes, because now she was at their level and they could attack her en masse.

“Yes, yes, my loves, I didn’t abandon you, I’m home,” she said, laughing. Then, “Eurgh!” when Rosy slurped at her face. Bruce stared balefully at her, but Edgar sat without being asked, holding up a paw, the picture of good manners. “Nice to meet you again, Edgar,” she told him, shaking with him. He smiled at her.

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, and Six— the ducklings— all crowded close, emitting tiny, squeaky quacks like their lives depended on it. She felt the worst having to leave them behind all day, since they’d imprinted on her, but she had no choice. She dropped a kiss on each feathery head and began to extract their new sister from the tote bag.

“Everyone, say hello to Juanita.” Juanita was a miniature potbellied pig. Her back legs didn’t work quite as they should, so she had a set of wheels on a frame that could be strapped over her round tummy. With the wheels on, she could ambulate with the best of them.

“Oink!” Juanita said in greeting. Pig tucked under her arm, Brienne pulled out the wheeled contraption and got Juanita in it and let her go. Right away, she began running around the hallway, oinking madly.

“Fuck’s sake!” shrieked Jackson Polly. Then, for variety, “Bugger that!” Brienne sighed. Sandor had a lot to answer for.

She stood back up, using her body to corral everyone inside. “Who wants a walk?” Everyone did, it would seem, if the heightened noise in reaction to her question was anything to go by. “Okay, okay, let me get the ducklings into the tub and we’ll go.”

She shut the front door and hurried to the bathroom. As the tub filled, she disposed of the soiled piddle pads she laid out for everyone while she was at work and made sure the bearded dragons, in their tank, had their evening crickets to eat. The ducklings deposited in the tub to happily splash and quack, she put collars and leashes on Edgar, Rosy, and Juanita. Bruce would be going along, but he didn’t need a leash, never traveling more than a few feet from their group.

When Brienne swung the door open again, it was to find her new neighbor standing stock-still in the hallway where she’d last seen him, in front of his own door, keys in hand, as if frozen. Cersei sat patiently at his side.

“Um,” she said. “Are you… okay?”

“I just…” He looked as confused as she felt. “I wanted— I have to see this.” He gazed down at the animals and back up at her. She imagined they were quite a sight: poor Edgar with his sutured-shut eye, and Bruce’s hopping gait; the way Rosy waddled, big belly swaying side-to-side with each step, and now excitable little Juanita on her wheels. “Is this… something you do often?”

“Every morning and evening,” she replied, then rolled her lips in to keep from grinning. He couldn’t look more surprised if she’d come out of her apartment with a group of big-headed aliens on leashes instead. She guided everyone to the elevator and pressed the button.

“And the other tenants don’t mind?” As if swept along in her wake, the neighbor followed, Cersei at a distance, seeming wary of the motley group.

“I give them free vet care for their own pets. It keeps them quiet.” The elevator arrived. They all got on, the neighbor included.

“You’re a veterinarian?” He and Cersei seemed committed to the conversation now.

Brienne nodded. “I work at the animal clinic the next block over. These are the ones who weren’t doing well, there, so they stay with me while we try to find homes for them. I’ll miss them when they’re gone, though.”

She smiled down at them. “It’ll be hard for the imperfect ones, though,” she continued. “I might have them forever, if no one will take a chance on them.” Her hand dropped to Edgar’s head to give him a fond scritch. He leaned against her leg and smiled up at her. “But they’re so wonderful, in spite of it! Maybe even better than the ones with all their legs or both eyes, because they lived through it, and don’t take a home and love for granted. So it’s frustrating.”

She looked back up to find her neighbor staring at her, and blushed. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I can get carried away.”

His mouth tipped up at the corners. “I can see that. But it’s fine. We all have to be passionate about something.”

 _What are_ **_you_ ** _passionate about?_ was on the tip of her tongue to ask, but she couldn’t quite muster up the courage. Besides, it would have sounded… odd. Like she was flirting with him. And she wouldn’t have been.

Well, not _much_. He would be very easy to flirt with. Or _attempt_ to flirt with; Brienne was horrible at it, which was why she shied away from any hint of it. Memories of flirtation attempts gone awry in the past soured her stomach a little, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

“Mm-hm,” she settled for mumbling noncommittally, jumping a little when he exclaimed, “Ow!”

Bruce was trying to climb up his leg.

“Oh,” she said, “he likes you.”

The neighbor shot her a pained, skeptical glance as he tried to pry the cat from where Bruce was clinging to his jeans. Brienne put the leashes to Rosy, Edgar, and Juanita in his hand along with Cersei’s and carefully detached Bruce from his thigh.

“He only wants to love on you,” she explained. “Put your elbow out, like you’re escorting someone.”

He looked dubious but did as he was told; she plunked Bruce in the curve of his arm. The cat promptly snuggled up close, tucking his head against the neighbor’s neck and starting to purr.

“See?” She couldn’t keep from grinning. With Bruce in his embrace like a baby, and four leashes in his other hand— two of them attached to a pig and a goat— he was a sight. “Can I— can I take a photo of you?”

“Fine,” he muttered, sounding very much put-upon. He tried to scowl at her, but she could tell that a grin lurked beneath it. She whipped her phone from her pocket and took a few quick snaps. One was absolutely perfect— in addition to Bruce’s adulation, all the other animals were gazing up at him, as well, and he was trying without success to repress a grin.

“Adorable,” she breathed, then turned the phone so he could see the photo, too. “You’re like the pied piper of disabled creatures.”

“Cripples, bastards, and broken things,” he said under his breath, and just like that, his good humor fell away. He set the cat back on the ground and handed back her leashes.

Brienne didn’t know what she’d said to cause it, but suddenly the elevator felt far too small. “I’m sorry—” she began, but he interrupted.

“Don’t be. I’m…” He looked away, staring at his own reflection in the highly-polished brass around them. He didn’t seem pleased at what he found.

“Hungry?” she asked.

He looked back at her, brow furrowed. “No.”

“Tired?”

“…no.”

She bent and picked up Bruce, thrusting him at the neighbor one more time. “Then you must need a cuddle.”

“A cuddle.” He took the cat, but stared at her over Bruce’s orange-striped head.

She nodded. “Any time one of the animals in the shelter is grumpy, it’s because they’re hungry, tired, or need a cuddle.” Her grin was overly toothy but she shouldn’t help it. “If you’re not the first or the second, you must be the third.”

He stared at her like he was witness to a particular lunacy. She decided to help him out, and took Cersei’s leash from him.

“There,” she said, “now you have both hands free to snuggle Bruce.” The elevator doors slid open, and the animals burst eagerly out into the lobby. She was halfway to the entrance when she stopped and craned her head around, to look back at where he stood, still in the elevator. “Aren’t you coming?”

.

~*~

.

Brienne was delighted to see that Juanita not only did well on the leash, but beautifully with the other animals. Cersei was guarded, at first, but by the time they arrived at the little park at the end of the block and Brienne unclipped their leashes and let them run free, she had warmed up to everyone enough to leap and yip and dart around with them just as gleefully.

Bruce hopped down from the neighbor’s arms and went to frolic with the rest. Brienne coiled up the leashes into a roll and sat on the nearest bench. The neighbor followed and sat next to her. They enjoyed the pleasant autumn weather in silence for some minutes.

“Cats like me,” he said suddenly. “They like the whole family, actually.”

She thought it highly unlikely. “All cats?” she asked, skepticism thick in her voice.

“All cats,” he confirmed with a nod. “Not only little ones, either. Big ones, too. Cheetahs, leopards, panthers. Tigers.” He paused. “Lions.”

He looked a bit like a lion himself, with all that golden hair and the aristocratic profile. She bit back a smile, gazing out at the animals, and noticed that Rosy was starting to seem a bit fatigued.

“Rosy! Come here, love!” she called, and the goat obediently trotted back. “Sit, Rosy,” she murmured, giving her a little push on the rump to get her to park herself at Brienne’s feet. “She’s due to deliver in a few weeks, and I don’t want her to overdo it. She’s too young to have been bred, so she doesn’t quite realize she needs to be a responsible mother now.”

Brienne was still seething at the breeder.

“Stupid jerk,” she muttered. When the neighbor sat back in surprise, she hurried to say, “Not you. The breeder. Didn’t care that she was still a baby when he bred her, just wanted more kids he could sell. I’m going to have to give her a C-section, because she’s still too small to give birth the regular way.”

As soon as the kid was old enough to be weaned, she’d find a home for them, hopefully together.

“How’d you come to have her?” he asked.

She blushed; tried not to, couldn’t help it. “Well, uh.” She squinted up at the late sunlight shafting through the leaves overhead to avoid eye contact with him. It was too embarrassing. “Another patient’s owner told us about her situation, so I went to the breeder and… convinced him to surrender her to the shelter.”

Silence. She hazarded a glance his way and found him grinning at her in delight.

“You strong-armed him into giving you the goat for free?”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘strong-arming’,” she muttered, pointedly turning her attention from him to how the leaves were at last reaching peak greenness, now that spring had given way to summer.

“What, then?” he prompted, sounding way too gleeful. “Browbeating? Coercion?”

“ _Persuasion_ ,” she told him repressively.

“Badgering,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Bulldozing. Hectoring.” He leaned in and waggled his eyebrows. “Domineering.”

“Fuck’s sake,” she mumbled, channeling her cousin, and the neighbor guffawed.

.

~*~

.

When it started to get dark— dusk came later and later, these days— they started back. The dogs had sniffed and peed on everything that could be sniffed and peed on. Bruce had caught himself some dinner in the form of a hapless chipmunk, and was strutting around as proudly as a three-legged cat could possibly strut. Rosy was tired after all her romping so they went slowly. And all of Juanita’s frolicking had her little cart out of whack, so Brienne carried her home. She fell asleep in Brienne’s arms, oinking gently as she dreamed a little pig dream.

Her neighbor was quiet, or what passed for quiet from him. His tone was calm, his volume quiet, but he kept up a running commentary the whole time, rambling about their surroundings— the trees, the buildings, the cars, the animals, anything that caught his eye— but he seemed… peaceful. Happy.

She wondered what his name was, but it seemed like the time to inquire had passed and she felt too awkward to come out and ask. She was now doomed until the end of time to never know what it was. Shame; she had no chance with him, but it would have been nice to at least know who she was thinking about during the inappropriate moments she was sure would come to her later that night.

 _Pantyslayer, I dub thee_ , she thought, and couldn’t repress a grin to herself.

“What’s that dirty little smile about?” he asked.

She jolted, looking up from where she’d been watching Rosy waddle along. There was a tall hedge behind him as they walked, and the green of it made his hair seem more golden and his eyes more vivid.

“What? No.” She averted her gaze to the animals once more. Thank the gods they’d arrived back at their building. “No dirty smile. Just a regular smile.”

“So all your smiles look dirty, is what you’re telling me.” He held open the door for her, gesturing for her to lead her menagerie inside.

“No! They’re not—” Brienne scowled at him in frustration, but stopped when she realized how utterly _thrilled_ he looked to be teasing her. She knew his type; they loved the reaction, didn’t care about the actual matter at hand. “Okay, you got me,” she therefore said, intent on ruining his fun, and pressed the elevator button. “All my smiles are dirty.”

He looked intrigued instead of disappointed she’d called him on his teasing. “Oh, now you _have_ to share your dirty thoughts with me.”

“Do I?” she asked, pretending to be thoughtful. The doors opened and they stepped inside. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“Aw, c’mon, don’t be that way,” he groaned with mock drama. “Now I’ll be up all night wondering which perversions you get up to in your spare time.”

“Then you either need a hobby, or a few more pets, to keep your mind on better things,” she shot back. “Interested in a potbellied pig? Only slightly damaged. Comes with her own cart. A bargain at ‘free take her please my apartment is busting at the seams’.”

He laughed even while shaking his head.

“How are you fixed for ducklings, then? You’d make a nice duck daddy, I think…” He kept laughing. “How about Rosy or her baby, when it arrives? No? Not a fan of the farm animals, I see… a tough nut to crack.” She eyed him critically, as if taking his measure, while he grinned. “You should take Bruce.” She wasn’t even joking. He shook his head, but she pressed on. “He loves you. He gets along with Cersei. It’s a perfect match.”

They both glanced down at the cat, who’d busied himself with winding around their ankles. At their attention, Bruce stared with adoration up at Pantyslayer, who shook his head again, but there was an uncertainty to it, a chink in his defense, that told Brienne she could work on him and, ultimately, he’d cave.

She heaved a sigh. “Oh, well, your loss, right, Bruce?” Bruce looked away from his darling to her and gave a little mew, as if to say, “Right!”. Her neighbor just continued to laugh.

They separated halfway down the hall to approach their respective apartments.

“Uh… thanks?” he said, keys in hand, Cersei patient at his side.

“For what?” Brienne unlocked her door and let everyone run inside, presumably to food bowls but there was a good chance Edgar was checking on the ducklings; he loved them and worried when parted from them.

“For… I guess… it was…” He stopped, frowning. “It was fun. Taking them all for a walk. You’re funny. I haven’t laughed like that in… a long time. Maybe years. I needed it. So, thank you.”

Brienne felt a warm glow of satisfaction at his words, and beamed at him even as she reached down to scoop up one of the ducklings that had decided to make a break for freedom; Edgar had indeed hurried to get them out of the tub. She waved the duckling at Pantyslayer in farewell. “Good night!”

He didn’t answer, just stood watching her, and it was only as she shut the door that she heard him reply, “Good night.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Mikki (ikkiM) and sea_spirit for their incredibly helpful and supportive betaing. If you haven't read their work, don't waste your time on this mess, go read them! RIGHT NOW!

.

~*~

.

Brienne hadn’t thought to make it a habit, not by a long shot, but a week passed, and then two, and each night when she came home it was to find Pantyslayer standing there with Cersei, looking hopeful. And each night she’d brace for impact, but even so, the sight of him was like a kick to the solar plexus.

“Hi,” she would say, wheezing only slightly. “Want to join us?”

He would nearly blind her with his smile, but his reply would only be a casual, “Yeah, thanks.”

Their third week was commencing that night. Brienne unlocked her door and the cacophony began. “What the fuck is a Lommy?” Jackson Polly howled while One through Six quacked like their lives depended on it, Rosy bleated, and Juanita oinked insistently.

Brienne tried to corral them, but Bruce was the first through the door, slinking past her like a professional escape artist and making a beeline for Pantyslayer. The ducklings were next, followed swiftly by Edgar who stopped only long enough to offer Brienne his customary hand-shake, and then Juanita rolled out, hooves tapping as she scrambled for traction. Last was Rosy, squeezing her bulk through the gap in the door.

The ducklings clustered at the neighbor’s feet, Rosy headbutted his knee, Edgar held out his paw in greeting, and Juanita zoomed in circles around him and Cersei, oinking frantically.

He lifted an incredulous gaze to Brienne over Bruce’s head. “Are there any others you want to sic on me?” he asked dryly.

“I can fetch the bearded dragons out of their case, if you’d like to say hi. Should I go get Jackson Polly, too?”

“Bugger that!” was the parrot’s opinion of the matter. “Fuck’s sake!”

“I think I’m good,” replied the neighbor. “I think this is quite enough.” He gazed, a little helplessly, down at the zoo at his feet, then back up at Brienne.

After two weeks, they had all gotten used to him and his generous pats and scratches and the sound of his deep, smooth voice whenever he spoke, which was all the time. He was also pretty free with the hugs, willing to pick up any of them, even Rosy, who seemed to be packing on the pounds in these last weeks of her pregnancy. She liked to chew on his hair. He didn’t even seem to mind goat saliva in his ears.

“They like you,” she said simply, unable to keep from smiling.

“But _why_?” His confusion was adorable; why was he so surprised that animals would be attracted to him?

“They can tell when someone is a good soul,” Brienne replied. “They know you’d never hurt them.”

But instead of pleased with a compliment, he only looked more baffled. “I’m— a good soul? That’s… I’m really not.” He shook his head. “I _could_ hurt them. They can’t possibly know I wouldn’t.”

But even as he asked it, he stooped down to pick up Juanita, cradling her in one arm and Bruce in the crook of the other, and gave her some eye contact. The pig oinked flirtatiously at him, and Brienne laughed: even the porcine ladies were not immune to his charms.

“I have to get another picture,” she told him, extracting her phone.

“Must you?” he asked sourly, then sighed in resignation as Edgar leaned against his leg and gazed worshipfully up at him and Rosy rubbed her little horns on his knee. One through Six kept up their insistent quacking, Three and Four having managed to climb onto his feet and settled in for naps. Five was trying to eat his shoelace.

“On one condition,” Pantyslayer said as he stood there and let Brienne have her photo session. “You have to send me these, and all the rest.”

Brienne had been taking snaps of him steadily the whole time, because it was just so damned cute. All the women at the shelter, Gilly and the various volunteers, were in love with him, sighing and gazing upon the photos with longing. They’d been teasing her about him, too, which was embarrassing and a bit annoying. None of them seemed to believe her when she said they were not even friends, just acquaintances. A few insisted on giving her ‘surefire’ tips on how to seduce him, which Brienne was wholly certain would not work because they all relied on feminine charms, of which she had exactly none.

She stifled a grin and took a few quick pictures with her phone. When she was done, he bent to put the cat and pig down, then took the snoozing ducklings off his feet. They were immediately replaced by Two and Six. One decided that Five had the right idea, and started nibbling on the other shoelace. He sighed again.

“It’s a deal,” Brienne agreed, still laughing as she began to pluck ducklings off him. “Let me get these guys in the tub, I’ll be right back.”

“We’ll be here,” he said, not looking all _that_ unhappy with the situation despite his grumbling.

She hurried and was back in the hallway with him and the animals in short order, leashes in hand. They were mostly silent on the way down, their conversation consisting of “how was your day?” and “fine, thanks” but it wasn’t a tense silence, and he seemed relaxed and happy, smiling down at Juanita when she oinked and even stooping to let Bruce clamber back up into the curve of his arm. He began talking once they hit the street, seeming to be congenitally incapable of going without speech for more than five minutes at a time.

He made observations and comments about pretty much everything, as was his wont, and needed no more than an occasional hum of agreement from Brienne to be satisfied, which in turn satisfied her— people thought she was a loner, but she was just quiet. She loved having company, as a rule, and it was quite wonderful to be in the presence of someone who didn’t require her to be vocal in order to enjoy his presence.

By the time they reached the park. Brienne’s mood— already decent— had grown to be positively _happy_ , and she gave herself a stern warning because there was no way this ten— or 38, as she’d determined— would look twice at a tall, homely three. He was just a talky sort who wanted company while he walked his dog. 

Internally Brienne grimaced. She had somewhat of a history of crushing on unobtainable men. Walking their pets together would be her sole indulgence where he was concerned. She might as well enjoy it; probably not smart, getting to know him when she knew it was doomed to platonic acquaintanceship, but… she _liked_ him, not just because of his excellent looks, but for how smiley he was, how easily he laughed, how gentle he was with the animals, how keenly he observed everything, even how much he talked. And she liked how he didn’t look at her with contempt or mockery. She liked that the most.

She liked the company, too, since the only time she spent with humans outside of work was with her cousin and his girlfriend and the girlfriend’s huge, intense family. She’d just have to be sure to remind her heart that Pantyslayer would not be slaying her particular panties any time soon. 

Besides, she’d sworn off men forever… hadn’t she? Though if there were a man to make an exception for...

“There’s that dirty smile again,” he said, and Brienne whipped up her head to find him watching her, an amused light in his extraordinary eyes. She realized that, yes, she was smiling, and didn’t doubt that it probably had been kind of dirty, considering what she’d been contemplating.

“You have _got_ to tell me what you think about when you do that,” he continued with a gleaming smile.

She felt herself flush. “No, I don’t think I do,” she grumbled, steadfastly keeping her eyes on the animals as she unclipped their leashes and they sprang away to gambol with each other.

To her shock, he nudged her shoulder with his and gave an exaggerated frown. “Spoil sport.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, head back, eyes closed, enjoying the interaction to an unwise extent, and when she looked at him again, he was watching her with a wide grin, looking very pleased with himself. She blushed a little harder and concentrated on watching Rosy, to be sure the little goat didn’t tucker herself out.

Her neighbor kept talking. The weather, a movie he’d seen, a meal he’d eaten: all were fodder for discussion. She leaned back against the park bench and let the smooth cadence of his voice wash over her, enjoying the cool breeze on her face. It was only when her stomach growled that she realized they’d been out there a good hour and if she were hungry, the animals must have been ready to start gnawing on each other.

“Is it time to go already?” he asked when she stood. “That went quickly.”

“Dinner time,” she told him with a faint smile. He looked surprised and glanced down at his belly, as if surprised to realize his was empty, too.

Brienne whistled and called, and all the animals returned… except for Cersei. Frowning, she and her neighbor went exploring the park, finally finding her on the far side of a low hill, prancing coquettishly with a strange dog.

“Oh, no,” her neighbor muttered, moving forward to retrieve her, and Brienne peered closer at the newcomer. _No collar._ He was a pitbull with cropped ears and docked tail, big and strongly muscled as was typical for his breed, but he looked… rough. Or… roughed up, rather. She crept closer— slowly, carefully— and saw an intricate network of scarring on his charcoal fur, some old, some pink and new. One of his eyes looked a bit swollen, and his left jowl looked torn, and—

“Hey,” she said softly, her tone sweet and coaxing. She moved toward the dog, hand out. He watched her, alert, watchful but not aggressive. “Hey, baby.”

“What are you _doing_?” demanded her neighbor. “Don’t. You don’t know if he’ll attack you. You shouldn’t—”

She ignored him, of course, going to her knees before the dog a respectful few feet away, hand still out. The dog stretched out his thickly-muscled neck and she held her breath— kiss or bite? Kiss, it turned out; he sniffed her fingers, then swiped at them with a wide tongue.

“Oh, you’re a darling, aren’t you?” she crooned, reaching to scratch between his eyes. He sat on his haunches and gave her a big daft doggy smile. It cracked open the scab on his injured jowl, and a trickle of blood seeped out. “Yes, you’re a love, you are. Such a handsome sweetheart.” He lay down and presented his belly, a show of submission just as much as an entreaty for her to scratch him there as well.

He also presented a significant pair of unaltered testicles. Brienne turned to look back at her neighbor, who hadn’t spoken, hadn’t moved a muscle, since she’d knelt to pet the dog. He was watching her with the transfixed wonder of an audience member for a snake-charmer.

“What?” she demanded with a scowl, self-conscious.

“Nothing,” he murmured, shaking his head with a little smile.

She shook her head, too, at his weirdness. “Well,” she said as she got back to her feet and wiped her slobbery hand on her jeans, “is Cersei spayed? If not, I’m pretty sure I know what they were doing back here.”

“She’s not,” he replied, smirking ruefully as Cersei sidled coyly back to the pitbull’s side. The pitbull stood again and sniffed appreciatively at Cersei’s bottom, and then proved himself a shameless playboy by mounting her there again, before the gods and everyone.

“Whoa, whoa,” said Brienne with a laugh. “Get off, boy. Off.”

“That’s what he’s _trying_ to do,” said her neighbor, his smile a few shades of dirty itself. Brienne rolled her eyes, taking Cersei’s collar and tugging until the golden managed to disengage herself from her paramour. “Go to Daddy, girl.”

Pantyslayer clipped the leash on her. Then Brienne felt something at her butt and startled, whipping around to find that her neighbor had taken the coiled-up leashes from her back pocket while she bent over to pet the pitbull again.

“I’ll get them all trussed up while you decide what you want to do with him,” he told her, his tone mild, but there was a smirk lingering at the corners of his mouth.

She reached for a leash. “Edgar doesn’t need a leash, he’ll walk with us without one. I’ll use his for this sweet boy.” She looped the leash on itself so it formed a slipknot and put it around his neck.

“You’re just going to bring him home with you?” the neighbor asked as they began to wend their way back to their building. “You sure that’s wise?”

She studied the pitbull, who walked in perfect docility in conjunction with the rest of the herd. “Yes,” she said firmly. “I have _excellent_ instincts.”

He just shook his head, a wry twist to his mouth. “It’s your funeral, I guess,” he said, but he didn’t seem as dismissive as the words would indicate, a hint of true concern on his face. Then his expression shifted to one of mischief. “What do your _excellent_ instincts tell you about me?”

Brienne was very glad that twilight had deepened enough to hide the full extent of her blush, because judging by the heat her face was producing, she had turned a truly alarming shade of plum. Her instincts told her he was _wonderful_ , but there was no way in any of the seven hells she was going to reveal that, so she just shrugged and said, “That you’re actually a pretty good person, but it embarrasses you, so you cover it up with sarcasm and flirting.”

She’d come to suspect it over the last few weeks, and felt it confirmed that very evening: any time the conversation veered in a direction that might show Pantyslayer in any sort of positive light, he deflected with sardonic wit and risqué humor.

He stopped walking so suddenly that Cersei, still walking, was jerked backward a little when her leash extended to its fullest. Brienne, too, stopped short.

Speechless, eyes wide, her neighbor stared at her in silence for so long it started feeling weird. Then, with a hard swallow and harder blink, he schooled his face into what she could only describe as a cynical leer.

“Then you’re either as naive as you are—” He halted, there, seeming to grope for a word. Brienne waited placidly for him to decide which variation of ‘ugly’ he would choose. But he finished up with, “tall. Or you’ve succumbed to my myriad physical charms.”

Batting his gold-tipped eyelashes at her, he gave her a sharp grin that looked like it hurt him more than it could ever hurt her, and she felt suddenly, shockingly bad for him. What the hell had happened to him to make him so… brittle? There’d been a hint of it the very first day they’d met, when he’d muttered something about… what had it been? ‘Cripples, bastards, and broken things’?

Whatever he’d been through, it had made a mark on him, had him creating clear ‘keep away’ signs at any hint of encroachment.

Too bad for him that Brienne had always blithely ignored those kinds of signs. It was a family trademark; Sandor never let anything like fences or barbed wire— real or figurative— hold him back, either.

“The first, undoubtedly,” she therefore said easily. “The second?” She started walking again, slanting him a smile. “No.”

His grin shifted from that painful-looking razorlike thing to something of more genuine amusement. “You sound pretty sure. How wounding to my ego.”

“I’m surrounded by attractive people all the time,” was her answer. “My cousin’s girlfriend and her entire family look like supermodels. _Her_ cousin’s girlfriend looks like a moon goddess or something, platinum hair and purple eyes—”

“That’s impossible,” he said flatly. “No one has purple eyes.”

“ _She_ does,” insisted Brienne before continuing. “And the lady who lives across the hall from you has a pack of grandchildren who are almost painfully beautiful. One of them is dating the best-looking, handsomest, most gorgeous man in the world.”

He flicked a wheat-colored eyebrow upward at her lavish description of Renly, and she colored a little harder. Her crush on Renly was in the past— mostly— but his physical appeal was still undeniable. And she hadn’t liked him for his looks, anyway, but for his kindness.

“So you see,” she concluded as they marched their interspecies coalition up their building's front steps, “your… everything…” here, she waved a hand from his head to his feet, indicating the entire package comprising him— “is not really a blip on my radar.”

 _Liar_ , her brain whispered. _You are such a filthy liar._ She ignored it and punched the elevator button.

He gave a little jerk back, hand to his chest, miming having been shot. “My… everything… is devastated,” he declared, then followed her onto the elevator when the doors opened. “Just demolished. I’ll never recover.”

She rolled her eyes at him, making him laugh. “Anyway,” she said, “I’ll treat his cuts and abrasions tonight, then bring him to work with me tomorrow for a nice neutering.”

“I’m pretty sure neutering is never nice,” Pantyslayer muttered, and casually let one hand drop to hover over the front of his trousers.

“You’re in no danger of my snipping you,” she told him, trying to stifle a giggle. “Your privates are safe from me.”

“What if I don’t _want_ my privates safe from you?” He waggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly at her.

This time the giggle burst free, to her horror, and she bit down hard on her lower lip to cut it off. He had been grinning, clearly proud to have gotten her to make such a spectacle of herself, but his bottle-green eyes latched onto where she was gnashing her lip and sharpened, somehow.

She must be making it swollen, even thicker and redder than it normally was. She didn’t blame him for staring— between her vivid blushing and freckles and battered nose and big lips, she probably looked more like a caricature than an actual person, at that point. She turned away, key in hand while the animals milled about, and pushed open the door.

She was met with a piercing squawk of “Fuck’s sake!” A chorus of quacking could be heard in the distance, from the bathroom.

“Yes, yes, dinner for everyone,” Brienne announced. She ushered them all inside, then turned to close the door when she realized Pantyslayer was standing on the threshold, Cersei at his side, both staring wistfully at their little group.

“Do you… want to… come in?” she hazarded, and was immediately rewarded with yet another of his dazzling smiles.

She shut the door after he and Cersei stepped through, and went to take Jackson Polly from his cage, because the parrot hadn’t let off shrieking to see a newcomer in his lair.

“Want to hold him?” she asked the neighbor. “It’ll keep him quiet.”

“Um.” He didn’t quite agree, but took the bird well enough, letting Brienne situate Jackson on his hand. The parrot dug in his talons, but Pantyslayer didn’t so much as twitch at what must have been at least a little pain.

“Bugger that,” said Jackson, but at a reasonable volume, instead of deafening the poor man. He swiveled his head to look directly at him, then asked in a perfectly acceptable volume and tone of voice, “What the fuck is a Lommy?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your interest in this story, I'm glad you're enjoying it! And thanks to Mikki (ikkiM) and sea_spirit for their helpful beta.

Brienne moved as fast as she was able, not wanting to take advantage of her neighbor’s kindness. Upon returning from helping Edgar extract the ducklings from the tub, she found that he had taken a seat on her battered sofa and was surrounded, again, by the rest of them. Bruce was on one knee, Juanita on the other _sans_ cart, and Rosy and Cersei were each sitting on a foot. Jackson was situated on his shoulder, by that point, crooning “Bugger that,” in loving tones into Pantyslayer’s ear.

He watched as she gave the dragons their crickets. “So who’s the pottymouth who taught Jackson to cuss like that?”

“That would be my cousin,” she said with a laugh, extracting her phone yet again to record his role as an animal perch for posterity. He grimaced but did not object. “This is actually pretty tame for him.”

“What the fuck is a Lommy?” Jackson asked plaintively.

“It’s a good question,” said her neighbor. “What the fuck _is_ a Lommy?”

Satisfied with her latest photographic efforts, she tossed the phone on the coffee table and reached to take Juanita from him, putting her back in her cart. “I think Lommy is a friend of my cousin’s girlfriend? Or her sister? I’m not sure, really.”

“Does he know he’s famous?” Pantyslayer idly patted various of his fan club. “If not, someone should tell him.”

“I don’t know if he can handle that sort of power.” It made him laugh, which had her feeling oddly proud of herself.

Brienne busied herself in getting everyone’s dinner ready: tins of ground-up gods-knew-what for the dogs and cat, and specialized feed for the farm critters. As everyone deserted the neighbor for their food, she took Jackson from his shoulder, placing him back on the perch in his cage. He got his pellets and seeds and half a peach and fell blessedly quiet while applying himself to his meal.

Once they were all fed, she stood uneasily for a moment. At that point, she’d usually be washing up and finding her own food, but she had a person in her home and wasn’t quite sure what to do.

“Um.” _Awkward_. Was he expecting her to offer him dinner? He’d be awfully disappointed, if so— she was _not_ a cook. The animals ate better than she did. “You can stay and eat with me, if you like, but all I have is cold cereal or a tuna sandwich…”

He smirked. “Thank you for the tempting offer— I do love a tuna sandwich— but I’m going to stay while you care for the stray.”

“What? Why?”

“Because he might seem nice now, but if you hurt him while you tend his wounds, he could attack you.”

He wasn’t wrong. It had happened to her quite a few times before, but she was well able to handle herself. It was nice of him, however, and she couldn’t say he wouldn’t be helpful if it did occur.

“Okay, thanks,” she therefore said. “Let me just… get ready.”

She fetched her medical kit, then started depositing animals in various regions of the apartment, as they finished eating.

“Edgar in the bathroom with the ducklings,” she pronounced, “Rosy and Juanita in my bedroom. Bruce can stay, he’ll only watch.”

“Cersei, too,” said her neighbor. “She’s far better-behaved than her namesake.”

Again with the weird comments about his sister. Whatever the original Cersei had done must have had a huge impact on him, and not a good one. Brienne thanked her lucky stars for Galladon and Sandor being, well, not _nice_ exactly, but… good. They were good people, if not precisely pleasant ones.

Once everyone was where they were supposed to be, Brienne draped the kitchen table with a heavy plastic sheet. She lifted the pitbull onto it, coaxing him to lay down while Pantyslayer watched with an impressed expression.

“What?” she asked, withdrawing alcohol wipes and a tube of antiseptic ointment.

“You just deadlifted 125 pounds of dog,” he said. “You don’t think that’s something noteworthy?”

“I can deadlift twice that, so what?” She shrugged and busied herself pulling on sterile latex gloves to avoid meeting his gaze. “My cousin can do 400.”

He shook his head and muttered, “Are you a family of Olympic athletes?”

“You don’t exactly look like a hollow-chested weakling yourself,” Brienne retorted automatically, and was horrified when his eyes snapped to her, lit up with delight.

“I was wondering when you’d notice, wench!”

“I didn’t _notice_ anything,” she protested, her face flaming. “Just… a vague… impression of… I mean, I’m not _blind_.” She waved a gloved hand in his direction. “And… wench?”

He only grinned, unrepentant. “I don’t know your name. Have to call you something, when I think of you.”

 _You think of me?_ was the first thing that went through her head, and then, _oh, thank the gods he brought it up. I don’t know how much longer I can keep thinking of him as Pantyslayer._

“Brienne,” she told him. “Brienne Tarth.” She looked at him, waiting for his reply, but he seemed… uneasy, somehow. _Weird_. “And you?” she prompted at last.

“Ja-Jason,” he said at last. “Jason, uh, Caster-Leigh.”

“Double-barreled last name,” she commented, _very_ relieved to have an actual name to put to his face in her thoughts, though she wondered at him stumbling over his own name. “Fancy.”

“That’s us,” said Jason. “Fancy.” His laugh, if she didn’t know better, was nervous. _Weird_. He was a weird man. And hot. A hot, weird man. She wished the weirdness negated the hotness but it didn’t make the slightest dent.

“Well, Jason, how about you sit on the other side of the table and be ready to grab him if he decides my nose looks like a good chew toy?”

But the dog was a perfect darling, serenely panting stinky breath into her face as she ran her hands over him, checking for injuries she hadn’t yet spotted. All that seemed wrong, however,  were the swollen eye and laceration on his jowl. She carefully cleaned and disinfected everything, glad he wouldn’t need stitches, and when she was done, he thanked her with a wet slurp up her cheek.

“You’re welcome,” she said, and laughed as she turned to Jason, to share the amusement with him, but found him just… watching her, his eyes gentle. “What?”

“You’re… calm,” he commented in what seemed an approving way. “It’s restful.”

She shot him a scowl as she stripped off the gloves and washed her hands. “Are you saying I’m boring?” It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been accused of such.

“Not at all. Maybe ‘restful’ is the wrong word.” He paused, clearly thinking. “Comfortable?

“Like an old sofa,” Brienne grumbled, but secretly she was pleased. If he were comfortable with her, it meant that maybe they could be friends. It would be nice to have him for a friend. She found herself hoping for it quite often during the day. If she were being honest with herself, she’d admit that she wished they would be more than only friends, in spite of her commitment to being done with men. There wasn't a lot that could make her forget a promise she'd made, but Jason was turning out to be a very effective battering ram making short work of her resolve on that one. But realistically, that wasn’t possible, so… friends.

“Old sofas are fantastic,” he retorted with a grin. “As are calm people.”

“You say that like we’re rare.” She lifted the dog off the table to the floor and removed the plastic sheeting, folding it up to bring to the shelter in the morning for sterilization. The dog made a beeline for Cersei and the two curled up together after a few curious sniffs by the golden of the funky new scents on the pitbull’s face.

“Oh, you are,” was Jason’s prompt reply. “You don’t know how rare.”

She rolled her eyes. Everyone in her family was calm to the point of being taciturn. Sandor had once, while sleeping, needed a mirror placed under his nose to see if he were still breathing. “Family trait,” was all she said. “Well, you’re… not calm.”

“I’m well aware of that,” he said, but seemed disappointed, so she kept on.

“Not that you’re excitable. It’s more… energetic? No. Active? Maybe active… you have a quick mind, your brain is always firing, and every thought you have pours right out of your mouth.” His face kept falling the more she spoke, making her feel worse and worse at her lack of adequate vocabulary.

At last, in desperation, she blurted, “But I _like_ it! It’s… somehow, it’s relaxing to me, because you don’t expect me to answer you every time. It takes the pressure off me to come up with things to talk about. And it’s not like what you say is boring, it’s not!” He was staring at her, eyes wide, and she felt very self-conscious, so she finished with a mumbled, “I _like_ listening to you talk.”

When she dared to glance at him again, it was to find him smiling at her in a way that made her heart flop around like a landed trout: no wry smirk, no teasing grin, just… happiness.

“Well, good,” he said, and there was a tender note to it that had her stomach flopping, too. “Because I’m not stopping any time soon.”

Brienne forced a groan, and he laughed, and she was so damned happy in that moment she could have cried.

“I guess it’s time for me to get this one back for her own dinner,” Jason said at last. “And I wouldn’t mind some for myself.” He shot her a glance she couldn’t quite decypher, almost like he was waiting for something, but Brienne’s facility for spontaneous talk was pretty much exhausted for the night.

He gave her a little smile, finally, and turned to the dogs. “C’mon, Cersei, time to eat!”

The golden took her time standing. The pitbull stood, too, and they said a lingering farewell comprised of sniffs and licks until Jason called her again.

“Good night,” Brienne told him, standing in her doorway and watching as he made his way to his own door down the hall.

“Night,” he said, and then he was gone.

Brienne shut the door and turned to the pitbull. “Let’s get everyone out of their prisons and watch TV, what do you think?”

He seemed to find it a good idea, and kept her company as she moved from room to room, freeing the others. They milled about, playing and tussling with each other, while she threw together the aforementioned tuna sandwich for herself. She ate with one eye on them and the other on the TV. The show featured a character who reminded her of the pitbull: not too bright, good-natured, wide daft smile and big brown eyes.

“That’s it,” she said, “that’ll be your name.” She put her plate in the sink and sat on her comfortable old sofa, which she seemed to have a lot in common with. The animals all converged upon her and she soon found herself under a warm furry-and-feathery pile of critters.

“Everyone, meet Podrick.” She glanced at the dog. “What do you think of Pod, for short?” He gave a little yip of agreement, and she scritched between his ears. “There we go. Pod it is.”

She wished everything was so easily settled, and listlessly picked up her phone, in which she had changed everyone’s names back to normal.

Brienne: sansa help

Sansa: what??? whats wrong?????

Brienne: im in so much trouble

Sansa: how why???

<<Sandor joins the chat>>

Sandor: wtf im at work

Sansa: briennes in crisis!!!

Sandor: fucks sake. bri, r u in crisis?

Brienne: not the kind of crisis u can or want 2 help with

Sandor: good. LB, dont freak out over small shit.

Sansa: im sorry boo-bear, ilu

Sandor: yeah

<<Sandor has left the chat>>

Sansa: so whats ur crisis? i am HERE 4 u

Brienne: its Pantyslayer. whose real name is jason. im starting 2 seriously crush on him. its a disaster.

Sansa: no its wonderful. hes totally in2 u

Brienne: he ISNT. hes just starved 4 friendship or smthg

Sansa: and from that, love will GROW! like flowers and vines and the tall blond babies you will have!!!

Brienne: fucks sake. ur no help @all

Sansa: dont b that way.

Sansa: cmon im sorry

Sansa: brienne?

.

~*~

.

Brienne woke suddenly, immediately alert, and gazed around to look for something amiss. All was as it should have been: Edgar was asleep in the crook of her knees, and Bruce snored gently against her chest. Peering over the edge of the mattress, she saw Juanita conked out on her back, round tummy rising and falling with her breaths. Not far from the pig was Pod, big wedge-shaped head on his paws and one leg kicking a bit, as if he were running in his dreams.

But where was Rosy? She usually went to sleep right by the bed with everyone else. With care, Brienne disentangled herself from the cat and dog and stepped over and around the animals on the floor, passing the basket of unconscious ducklings. The hallway was still and quiet, as was the bathroom, but in the kitchen, Brienne found the little goat.

She was pacing restlessly back and forth, her hooves making tiny clicks on the tile, and when she saw Brienne she gave a tiny, distressed bleat. Then she twitched and a wet _sploosh_ sounded.

“Oh,” said Brienne, kneeling on the floor before Rosy and reaching to pet her head. The goat had gone into labor and was still too small to deliver naturally. Brienne would have to give her a c-section.

As she hurriedly mopped up the broken water, she tried to put together a plan, but couldn’t get past the fact that the clinic was several blocks away. She couldn’t carry Rosy the entire trip, and the poor thing couldn’t be expected to walk that far while in active labor. Plus it would take longer than Brienne wanted to spend, getting her there— she had to operate before the kid tried to make its entrance or Rosy might have severe complications.

If only Brienne had a car! She was proud that she kept her carbon footprint small-ish by walking or biking or taking public transit everywhere, but this was one time she wished she’d been selfish and wasteful.

 _Jason has a car_ , her brain whispered at her. The prospect of seeing him, at night— sleep-tousled?— was an intriguing and compelling one, but the idea of waking him in the middle of the night to drive her and her pregnant goat to the clinic was daunting.

Still, she felt like he might not mind, might actually be annoyed at her for _not_ asking him to help. He loved the animals, for all that he pretended not to, and he wouldn’t want Rosy to be in danger.

By this point, all the other animals were awake and had gathered around Rosy. They watched in puzzled interest as she walked back and forth and bleated, looking to Brienne as if she could explain their sister’s odd behavior.

“Keep an eye on her,” she told the others, feeling stupid as she did, but not wanting to leave Rosy alone for the time it would take to get Jason.

She left her door open as she went to his, and predictably, half of the animals wandered out after her. She prayed they remained quiet— waking up Miss Olenna or anyone else at the godsforsaken hour of the wolf was something Brienne wanted to avoid at all costs.

She knocked on Jason’s door, softly at first and then a little harder when that garnered no response. She was about to give up when she heard fumbling at the doorknob. The heavy oak was pulled open to reveal a truly glorious sight: Jason, nude but for very snug and small boxer-briefs in dark red.

Brienne knew it wasn’t the time and the hallway wasn’t the place, but she could not draw her eyes away from the spectacle he made. He had a perfectly-formed swimmer’s build of big shoulders and long, muscled torso narrowing into lean hips and strong thighs she dearly wanted to nibble on. Her mouth went dry and for a moment, she forgot why she’d woken him in the first place.

When she finally, finally was able to drag her eyes back up to his face, it was to find him every bit as distracted, staring at her, and she realized her own state of undress. She’d gone to sleep in panties, and a tank top she’d stolen from Sandor while they were still in high school, and nothing else. It was enormous, even on her, and while it fell to mid-thigh, the scooped neck and big arm holes gave her the equivalent coverage, on top, of a particularly small string bikini. The only things not exposed were her nipples, and even that was a possibility.

Jason’s eyes were riveted on her. Slowly, he hauled his gaze back up to hers with a dazed expression, lips parted, a peek of white teeth and sliver of pink tongue visible. Brienne felt herself on the verge of doing something rash.

Rosy chose that moment to bleat again,sounding pained, and both Brienne and Jason snapped their heads around to see her in the doorway to her apartment, looking pitiful.

“Oh, right,” she said, then blushed furiously at having revealed she’d gotten distracted by the far-too-appealing sight before her. “I’m so sorry to disturb you, Jason—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, but nicely. “Is something wrong?”

“Rosy’s in labor and I can’t carry her the whole way to the clinic and I don’t want to make her walk so far and I was wondering if I could borrow your car?” she blurted out in a single breath. “I’ve got the tarp to put under her so she won’t make a mess and I’ll bring it back as soon as I’m done and—”

“I’ll drive you,” he said, interrupting again— still nicely.

Did he doubt she could drive? “But—”

“So you can help her instead of paying attention to the road, if she needs it,” he said. “I don’t mind.” When she remained unconvinced, he added, his voice soft, “Let me help you, Brienne.”

Everything in Brienne rebelled against it; she was extremely unaccustomed to having others do things for her, hating to be a bother or seem dependent. But… Jason was her friend. Wasn’t he? He certainly seemed to want to be. And he was so earnest, standing there in his underwear, looking like a god, his eyes so earnest and almost pleading.

“Okay,” she said at last, unable to resist. “Thank you.”

His face lit up and he smiled. “I have to get dressed.” His gaze flickered over her once more and Brienne practically quivered under it. “We both do.”

“Yes,” she agreed. Was that possibly _her_ voice, that husky whisper? Hastily, she cleared her throat and returned to her apartment, pausing in the doorway to say over her shoulder, “Meet you back here in five minutes?”

“Yes,” he agreed, and sounded a bit husky himself.

Brienne rushed back to her bedroom, stuffing Juanita into her cart so she could scamper about the place. She flung off the tank top and pulled on a t-shirt, cut-offs, and battered sneakers. She collected the tarp and a few towels and snatched up her tote bag and keys and phone, then met Jason in the hallway with Rosy on her leash.

He’d pulled on jeans, a t-shirt, and flip-flops, and his hair was a mess, falling around his face in disarray. He should have looked sloppy and ridiculous. Instead, he looked like a model sauntering down a runway in resort casuals.

He smiled and jingled his keys. “Ready?”

“Ready!”

His car was one of those low-slung luxury sedans, with a whole herd’s-worth of leather upholstering the seats and what seemed to be actual mahogany insets in the doors and dashboard. It smelled heavenly and shut out the road noise so well that it felt cozy, cocooned in all that hushed opulence. She sat in the back with Rosy, passenger-side, and found herself watching Jason’s profile far more than her laboring patient, to her shame, but… it was almost impossible not to stare at him.

Rosy panted and cried on her bed of tarp and towels, and Brienne talked soothing nonsense to her for the short time it took to go the mile to the clinic. When they arrived, she hurried to unlock the door and prop it open. She turned back to find Jason had turned off the car, helped Rosy out, and stood there waiting with the leash in his hand.

“Oh!” said Brienne. “Thank you!”

She took the leash, expecting him to get back in the car and leave, but instead he clicked the locks, making the car chirp and flash its lights.

“Don’t— don’t you want to go to bed?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he said, with an intensity she couldn’t figure out, but when she stared at him in confusion, he shot her a rueful smile and ducked his head. “But I’m staying here.”

“But there could be complications,” she protested, wondering at his weird reaction. “It could take a long time to stabilize her.”

He only shrugged. “I’m good at napping in chairs.”

Brienne blew out a breath, giving up. If he wanted to get a crick in his neck and be uncomfortable instead of in his own bed— she firmly quashed any wandering thoughts her brain might have liked to indulge regarding how he might look stretched out across rumpled sheets— he was welcome to do so.

She led him and Rosy into the clinic, down the dim hallway to her favorite operating room.

“Can you get her onto the table?” she asked him, and started to scrub up. She heard a faint clatter as Rosy protested weakly, her hooves scrabbling against the steel of the table, but when she turned back around the goat was sitting nicely and Jason was petting her between her nubbly little horns.

He took one look at Brienne in her mask and operating gown and his mouth dropped into an O of surprise. “You look very impressive. Just like a _real_ doctor.”

That last was said slyly, as if he knew she’d be goaded by it. She only sighed in an exaggerated way, as if showing him extreme patience, but inwardly she thought he was impossibly sweet, being so good-natured when she’d woken him from a dead sleep because of a laboring goat.

“I _am_ a real doctor,” she said, waving him out of the room. “Now shoo. There’s a lounge around the corner, go sleep on the sofa or something.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jason replied, and left the room with one last grin that she couldn’t help but return.

“Alright, sweetie, don’t worry,” Brienne said to Rosy as she readied the anesthesia and prepared to put the little creature under. “When you wake up, you’ll be a mama and probably won’t remember any of this.”

Rosy responded with a tired bleat, suffering a wracking shudder as she had another contraction. Brienne quickly got the IV situated, and it was only moments before the goat was unconscious.

She worked fast, and soon the tiny baby was free and struggling weakly. Brienne wrapped the kid in a warm, fluffy towel and placed it in the sink so it couldn’t fall onto the floor. Swiftly, she  put Rosy back together, stitching and bandaging her and removing the IV. She put Rosy in a nice spacious cubicle with plenty of soft bedding and returned to her baby, tenderly washing and drying the kid.

When Rosy began to wake, Brienne put the baby in with her and watched as the kid latched on to a teat and began to feed. Rosy looked confused but wasn’t objecting so Brienne felt it was safe to leave them for the rest of the night; she was exhausted and had to be back in— she glanced at a wall clock— four hours.

Stripping off the surgical gown and mask and gloves, she dropped them in the waste bin and splashed some water over her face before making her way to the employee lounge. Jason had indeed found the sofa and fallen asleep on it, one arm folded under his head and the other resting on his belly. He’d kicked off the flip-flops and propped his bare feet up on the arm of the sofa, crossed at the ankles.

Brienne sat on the coffee table, knees brushing the edge of the sofa, and watched him for a while. It was very unlikely she’d ever again have the chance to just _look_ at him like this, peaceful and without him knowing of it. A little creepy, yes, but… her intentions were pure, so it wasn’t that bad?

Or, mostly pure. Somewhat pure? Nominally pure. She bit her lip and cupped her knees to keep from touching him, wanting to tug down the edge of his t-shirt or brush a stray strand of hair off his forehead. With a hard swallow, she finally ended her moment of self-indulgence, and decided it was time to wake him. She reached out and put her hand on his wrist, between his watch and his hand, but he didn’t move a muscle.

She pressed a little harder and whispered his name. Still nothing.

“Jason?” she tried again, at normal volume, and this time he woke, eyes heavy-lidded and muzzy with sleep. When they focused, however, and saw her sitting beside him, he smiled, only a little curve of lips that had her heart somersaulting.

“Brienne,” he murmured, relaxed as anything, just laying there, staring up at her, looking content to stay a while.

She snatched her hand back and sat up straighter. “Hi,” she said lamely.

“Hi.” And he kept smiling at her. “How’s Rosy?”

“She’s good,” Brienne replied right away. “So is her daughter. Want to see?”

“Yeah.”

They stood, Brienne scurrying back so as to not be pressed right up against him when he got up from the sofa, and she led him down the hall to the room with the cages. A few of the dogs and cats present raised their heads in curiosity but most kept on sleeping.

Rosy had fallen asleep, but her baby was still vigorously drinking. Brienne opened the gate and Jason reached in to pet the tiny head.

“What will you name her?” he asked in a whisper.

“I don’t know,” said Brienne. “Rosy is Rosy because of her red coat, but this little one is paler, more of a… peach color?”

“Peachy,” said Jason definitively. “Rosy and Peachy.”

She liked it. She liked how pleased he was looking, to have come up with a name, even more. “Rosy and Peachy,” she repeated, and smiled when he glanced at her. “You can be Peachy’s godfather.”

“Tomorrow,” was his answer. “First, let’s go home. You look dead on your feet.”

“I _am_ tired,” she admitted, failing to stifle a yawn, and shut the gate on the goats’ cage once more. She gave the place a last quick check to make sure everything was secure, and then they were in his car and driving back to the apartment building.

She woke again, just as suddenly as before, and just as alert. This time, it was to find that night had given way to day and she was still in Jason’s car, with him asleep beside her in the driver’s seat. As she blinked at the sunlight streaming in the windows, he stirred and rolled his head on the rest to face her.

“What—” she began, but it was fairly clear _what_. She’d fallen asleep on the drive home and instead of waking her, Jason had let her remain in his car, and stayed with her, too. The question, then, was… “Why?”

He smiled. “You fell asleep. I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

“But…” But they’d slept in his car, for hours, instead of going up to their respective beds. That was weird, wasn’t it? Though it seemed perfectly reasonable, the way he said it. As she puzzled it over, her eyes caught a glimpse of the clock on the dashboard.

“Oh, gods!” she exclaimed, scrambling for the door handle. “I have to be back at the clinic in half an hour!”

She bolted from the car, into the building and to the elevator while Jason followed at a more sedate pace, laughing the whole way.

“It’s not funny,” she grumbled as she waited for the elevator, shifting impatiently from one foot to the other. “Now I won’t have time for a shower or breakfast, because I have to walk everyone—”

“I’ll do it,” he said immediately. “You eat, shower, and I’ll have them all walked and back by the time you’re done.”

She blinked at him, torn between surprise and relief. It sure was convenient to have some help, instead of going it alone all the time. “You’re sure?”

“Wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t,” he said blithely. “I never do anything I don’t want to do.”

Brienne didn’t have anything to say to that, so she only knocked her shoulder into his, steadfast in staring up at the floor numbers as they lit up with each passing, aware he was grinning at her.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, and darted from the elevator before he could respond.

She left the apartment door open behind her so Jason could enter and collect everyone for their walks.

“Not yet, guys,” she told the ducklings as they waddled into the bathroom after her, thinking they’d get their morning swim. She took the fastest shower of her life before rushing to her bedroom to dry off and dress. Her hair wasn’t nearly dry, springing from her head in wild ringlets, but she didn’t have time to do anything with it.

Brienne hurried to the kitchen and scarfed down a bowl of cereal, keeping one eye on the door for when Jason would return with everyone. Just as she plunked the bowl in the sink, she remembered she hadn’t put the ducklings in the tub and hung her head, feeling tired and muddled and disappointed in herself.

Then she heard an oink and the clatter of toenails and hooves on the floor and knew they were back.

“We’re home!” he called, and she smiled in spite of her fatigue.

“Welcome back,” she said weakly as she rounded the corner from kitchen to living room. “No, Edgar,” she told the dog, because he’d begun carrying the ducklings to the bathroom, thinking it was time for their morning swim. “No time for that today, boy.”

Brienne glanced at her phone; she had five minutes to get to work, and it would take her fifteen to walk there— ten to jog, but she didn’t want to arrive all sweaty. She sighed and opened her mouth to thank Jason but he had his keys out and jingled them at her.

“I’ll drive you,” he said. “C’mon.”

Brienne wanted to protest, but he raised an arrogant golden brow as if daring her to object, and she caved.

“Okay, fine, I give in,” she muttered, but couldn’t hold back the smile that insisted on curving her lips.

Six minutes later, she extracted herself from his car, meaning to dash right into the clinic, but instead leaned over so she could peer into the car.

“Thank you, Jason,” she told him. “I mean it. You’ve been—”

She cut herself off before she could become too effusive.

“I’ve been what?” he asked, but she only smiled and shut the door, turning to head into the clinic.

A _bzzzzzzz_ sounded as he lowered the window, and he shouted, “I’ve been _what_?”

She just stepped inside, unable to stop grinning, and the last thing she heard before the door shut was “I’ve been _what_ , Brienne?”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy everyone's enjoying this story so far! Thanks to my delightful and delovely betas, sea_spirit and Mikki (ikkiM). They're amazing authors, so if you're not already reading their stories, WHY NOT?
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to GumTree, who I love like seriously bigtime.

~*~

The next few weeks had Brienne seesawing back and forth between exhaustion, concern, and near-giddy happiness.

Her apartment really did seem like it was bursting at the seams. With Peachy’s arrival there were now two goats, plus Juanita, Bruce, Jackson, the three bearded dragons, Edgar, the now-neutered Pod, and all six ducklings. Everything was harder to do, because she was constantly dancing around some underfoot critter, terrified of stepping on one.

It was expensive, too, feeding everyone, and with her salary none too hefty to begin with, she was feeling the pinch. She’d come to the reluctant point where she accepted the need to find new homes for half of them. Her guilt and reluctance, to part with them, was immense and yet she was the happiest she could ever recall being.

No mystery as to why, of course; the crush on Jason she’d finally admitted to was turning into a full-fledged infatuation. As she was no more petite or curvy or pretty than she’d ever been, however, her chances with him remained what they were before, i.e., nonexistent.

That made no difference whatsoever to her heart, which continued to throb with excitement whenever she saw him, or received a text from him, or thought about him at all.

Yes, they’d exchanged cell numbers, after Jason pointed out that he’d have taken less time to respond if she’d sent him a message or called, the night of Peachy’s birth, instead of just banging on his door.

“I didn’t hear you knocking,” he informed her. “Cersei woke me up, or else I’d have slept through it.”

Which only made Brienne think endlessly of him in bed, stretched out, peaceful, nude— at least in her imaginings, which were getting more and more risqué as the days passed. He’d been almost naked when he’d answered the door, and those boxers of his had been _extremely_ small. Only the most private of private areas had been covered, and Brienne’s rebellious libido insisted upon pondering what had not been revealed despite her sanity’s most fervent attempts to deviate from the topic.

Since then, he texted her frequently throughout the day, and in the evening after going their separate ways, post-walk. It was all the same type of stream-of-consciousness discussion they had during their walks, and Brienne replied with emojis unless she actually had something to respond, and they were both satisfied with it. Brienne needed to increase her texting plan from 250 per month to unlimited, though; he’d blown through all 250 in a week, and she couldn’t even find it in herself to be annoyed.

Though it did add to her ever-growing expenses, and which she was having trouble continuing, ‘being in near-constant contact with my crush’ not really something she could justify. _Only until the end of the month_ , she told herself, _and then I’ll switch it back_ , but when the next month began, the unlimited texting option was still on her plan.

 _I have so few vices_ , was her excuse. _I don’t smoke, almost never drink, don’t really go anywhere. Surely I deserve at least one indulgent thing I don’t need?_

She didn’t realize she was so preoccupied with the issue until she was home from work and had collected Jason and the animals and gone to the park. She sat beside him in silent contemplation for so long that he began shooting her curious glances.

“Something wrong?” he asked, and she blinked as she emerged from her preoccupied musings.

“Oh! No. I— did I miss anything important?” Then she grimaced, having just implied that much of what he said was trivial. “Sorry.”

He only grinned. “I know I ramble about nothing. It’s fine. No, you didn’t miss anything important.” He paused, eyes vivid as he ran them over her. “What’s up?”

“Uh.” She didn’t really want to admit to him how strapped she was for money, but at the same time… friends confided in each other, didn’t they. She wouldn’t be so reluctant to discuss the matter with Sansa or Sandor. She shouldn’t keep things from Jason only because she was attracted to him.

“I’m, I, I don’t earn a lot of money at the clinic,” she began haltingly. “It being a non-profit and all, it can’t pay much.”

Jason nodded. “I figured as much.”

“And my student loans are insane… and everything costs so much, and it’s starting to get hard to afford… everything.”

Even with rent control, the building was old and took a lot of energy to heat and cool, so utilities were high. She’d have gritted her teeth and put on an extra sweater or three in the winter, and sweated through the brutal heat of high summer, but the animals weren’t able to take temperature extremes and needed adequate heating and cooling.

Her student loans were excruciating, even more than her rent. And when she’d decided to continue her more expensive cell phone plan, it had been at the expense of cable TV, so now she didn’t even have that and had, to her shame, taken to stealing wifi from the Boltons in the apartment below her. She’d even sold the TV on WestBay for a few extra dragons, and might have to do the same with her laptop if she didn’t figure something out.

He stared at her for… a while. A _long_ while, and a calculating gleam came into his eyes, something that made her feel warm and suspicious all at once. It was the well-meaning expression of a wealthy person for a poor one, and usually presaged some insanely too-generous offer of money or material goods. Miss Olenna had the same look  at various times, as had Sansa, and Robb, and Miss Olenna’s granddaughter, but that was nothing compared to how things had been back on Tarth.

It was after her mother had died, during the recession. Fewer people were vacationing, and fewer still could afford to charter Selwyn Tarth’s boats. Losing Aleria Tarth’s income had been a harsh blow in addition to losing her, and to their shame, they’d needed to take charity— food banks became a common stop every week, and coat drives in the winter, too. In addition to trying feverishly to pump up business for the chartering, Selwyn had taken to doing odd jobs and even working overnights at a gas station. It had left Galladon at ten years old watching Brienne, two years younger. She wondered, now, how their father had survived. When had he managed to sleep?

She’d been immersed in her own unhappiness, back then. The worst had been the toy drives at Sevenmas. Brienne and Gal and the other poorer children had all been rounded up and given gifts, but they’d been made to hold them up and force smiles for photographs that could be sent to the people who’d donated, so they were able to feel good about what they’d done for the needy.

After the third year, Brienne refused to do what Gal called the ‘song and dance routine’ and had been told by the stern-faced septa in charge of distributing the presents that if she wouldn’t, she and Gal would not be allowed to have any of the toys, nor even the school supplies that were being handed out alongside.

Brienne had been angry enough to refuse anyway, but one look at Gal’s face was enough to have her gulping back her resentment to plaster as convincing a smile on her face as possible. She’d have been fine without gifts, the anger and satisfaction of refusing keeping her happy as the toys could not, but she couldn’t do that to her brother. He was good to her, unlike so many who tormented their younger siblings instead of helping and loving them as Gal did.

But Brienne had never forgotten what it was like to choke back that humiliation and resentment, or the lack of choice in having to do it.

Jason opened his mouth to speak, and she cut in before he could.

“You’d better not be about to offer me money,” she said, flashing him a silly grin to soften what probably would have come out quite aggressively. “Or anything else.”

His mouth shut with a snap and he averted his gaze guiltily; _hah, got him_ , she thought, unable to keep the silly grin from shifting to something more gentle and genuine and affectionate. Predictable he might be, but such a sweetheart.

After a few awkward minutes of watching the animals frolic, he cleared his throat and glanced at her with what seemed a touch of nervousness.

“I— there’s— I— a farm,” he said after a few moments of silence, gazing out over the wide expanse of lawn to where everyone was playing together. Juanita and Peachy had become devoted friends and the tiny pig’s joyful grunting as they ran in circles around each other had a little smile playing on Jason’s beautifully-shaped lips.

“A farm?”

“For Rosy and Peachy and Juanita and the ducklings,” he clarified. “The farm will take them all, so they can stay together.”

Brienne blinked. “Oh. That’s… that’s wonderful!” She gazed at him, wide-eyed. “Where is it? How did you find it?”

“It’s, uh… my… friend’s family has a farm in the Westerlands, and there’s plenty of room for them, and, yeah.” He looked intensely uncomfortable the way he always did when he was being sweet. Brienne stifled the now-familiar urge to hug him.

“I’m so glad,” she said, voice soft. “Thank you.”

He looked over at her, then. Their gazes caught and something like a current of electricity flowed between them. For a moment, she wasn’t able to breathe.

And then Peachy tripped over Juanita’s cart and tumbled head-over-hooves and let out a pathetic bleat. Brienne hurried from the bench to give her a quick look-over to make sure she wasn’t hurt. Peachy flung herself into Brienne’s arms; for all that Rosy was a darling, she was so young that it hadn’t quite sunk in that she was a mother now, and treated Peachy more like one of the gang instead of her own offspring. Peachy tended to go to Brienne and Jason for comfort, instead.

“What a good goat mama you are,” he said, and she looked up to find he’d followed her over. Right away, Peachy abandoned Brienne for him.

“What a good goat godfather _you_ are,” she said right back as he picked up the tiny creature and gave her a soothing cuddle. She thanked him by chewing on his earlobe.

He finished comforting the kid and set her back down, watching as she scampered away to sproing over Edgar. “Does this mean we’re sharing joint custody?”

A flush of awareness of him flowed over her, and she turned away, pretending to observe where Bruce was perched on a tree branch so she could hide the full effect of her blushing from him.

“Until they leave for the farm, at least,” she said eventually.

“You can see them as often as you like,” he told her, his tone casual.

Her eyes flew to him in surprise. “I… How would I? In the Westerlands? That’s very far away.”

“Not _that_ far,” said Jason as he squinted to where Rosy was dashing under some bushes after poor Bruce, who’d made the mistake of coming down from the tree. “A day’s road trip. And you never know. You might find yourself with reason to be there a lot more often than you think, some day.”

She frowned at him, unable to comprehend what he meant, and was about to ask when he started toward the pig, who’d gotten herself stuck in a shrub. Soon he was back, Juanita in the crook of one arm while he poked and prodded at her cart.

“This doesn’t fit her anymore,” he said as he put her back on the ground. She oinked adoringly at him before dashing off to play some more. “And it’s falling apart, besides.”

“Oh,” Brienne said, feeling a little stupid. She had no idea what to do about it; the cart had come with the pig when she’d arrived at the shelter.

“I’ll figure something out.” He said it so easily, so matter-of-factly, as if Juanita was his responsibility, and a glad one at that, instead of only his neighbor’s charity case, and her heart squeezed.

 _Oh, dammit_ , Brienne thought. _This unrequited shit is awful._

But when he looked up at her, smiling, all she could do was smile helplessly back.

“Though I do wish you’d let me give you some money,” Jason said quickly, taking a step back as if to distance himself from her fists in case she decided to take a swing at him. “Just a loan, if you won’t accept it as a gift.”

Brienne waited for the fury to rise in her belly as it had with Sansa and Miss Olenna, but it never came. There was no pity on his face, only concern. Though, to be fair, Sansa and Miss Olenna hadn’t pitied her, either, but it had been awful nonetheless. With Jason… instead, there was a fine glow of pleasure that he’d care enough to make the offer. And she had no doubt he’d follow through, too; if she accepted, she’d have a fat stack of dragon bills in her hand within the hour.

“No,” she told him with a smile, “but thank you. You’re very kind and generous. I appreciate your offer. It means a lot to me.”

“But—” He gave a hard exhalation, looking frustrated. “There’s no need for you to struggle. I have plenty of money. There’s nothing more I’d like to do with it than help you.”

For a single crazed moment, Brienne contemplated taking him up on it, of having him pay off her student loans and maybe pre-pay her rent for a year and stock her pantry and— ah, it would be so nice. Not for the first time, she rued her ironclad stubbornness, but she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she took advantage of his wealth.

“You’ve already done so much for me, with finding a place on the farm for the goats and ducklings and Juanita, and… and just being my friend.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “Seriously, Jason. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

He stared at her in silence, seeming like he was scarcely breathing. Slowly, as if she were a feral creature he was afraid of spooking, he brought his hand to her shoulder as well.

“If you’re sure,” he said at last. “If you change your mind, let me know.”

“I will.” When he looked unconvinced, she patted his shoulder before releasing it. “I promise!”

He left his hand on her shoulder another moment, during which her knees felt like they were melting, then released her and turned to watch Peachy chase poor Bruce up a tree.

Brienne sagged back down on the bench and tried to even out her breathing, emotions in an uproar because, for a wild second, she’d thought he was going to pull her toward him. For a hug? A _kiss_? Longing for it, for him, clutched at her, binding her stomach and lungs up tight.

Oh, she had it bad.

Her stomach growled, and she realized perhaps the tight sensation in her belly was because it was empty. She had been rushed off her feet that day, and hadn’t had time for lunch. As they left the park and walked home, she contemplated what she had in her meager larder that could fill her up better than a tuna sandwich when Jason spoke up.

“Something else wrong?” he asked.

She looked down in the direction of her stomach, which she’d begun idly rubbing in a futile attempt to stave off the persistent hunger pangs, and knew a blush spread across her face.

“ ‘M just hungry,” she mumbled, averting her face in embarrassment.

“That tuna sandwich is going to taste extra-good tonight, huh?” he asked, and Brienne grimaced.

When he’d realized she hadn’t been joking about her go-to dinner being a tuna sandwich almost every night, he’d been amused, then appalled, and tried to talk her into something— anything— else ever since. She’d promised him she would vary her diet but with a twinge of dismay, Brienne remembered that she hadn’t been to the grocery store in a while and was likely out of tuna.

And mayonnaise.

 _And_ bread.

She hung her head in resignation. She’d either have to order in, or trudge out to the market after returning the animals to her apartment. Option 1 was expensive, but option 2 was tiring, and she was already weary from her busy day at the clinic.

She was giving serious contemplation to simply going without dinner altogether– no, perhaps she still had some cereal left! But had the milk gone sour?— when Jason ducked enough to peer up into her down-turned face.

“Now what?” he asked.

“I was wondering if my milk is still good,” she admitted as they ambled along. “If so, I can have cereal.”

“Not tuna?”

She heaved a sigh. “I’m out of tuna fixings.” Averting her face, she continued in a mumble, “…and everything else.”

He gave no response, and in fact was unusually quiet for the rest of the walk, to the point where Brienne frowned at him, wondering. He looked… irritated. Frustrated. At her? She stifled the impulse to apologize as they entered their building.

When Jason spoke, though, his tone was very mild, as if he were consciously controlling it.

“You’ll make yourself sick, if you keep on like this. You’ll get rickets or scurvy if you don’t start eating better.”

She scowled at him; he smiled angelically in return.

“I’m not going to get rickets or scurvy,” she muttered.

“No, you’re not, because I’m going to feed you,” he announced.

She blinked at him in shock. “You’re… what? No.”

“Yes,” he said. “You know that my housekeeper cooks me a weeks’ worth of meals every time she comes. The freezer is overflowing with pre-made meals. Every time I open it, one falls on my foot. I’ve already broken two toes.”

She shot a glance at him, frankly skeptical. “Two toes? Really?”

“No, not really,” he admitted, fighting a grin. “Only one.”

Brienne rolled her eyes but couldn’t hold back a laugh.

“We’ll just eat what I defrosted for tonight. She always makes huge portions. Thinks I need fattening up.” He pressed a hand against his perfectly flat belly, glancing up at her through his eyelashes in a particularly flirty way. “Do _you_ think I need fattening up?”

“Yes,” she replied, her tone flat and arid as they exited the elevator. “You’re as skinny as a twig. Scrawny, too. I can barely stand to look at you.”

“Gods, you’re terrible at being sarcastic. You’re lucky I’m here to teach you how to do it right.”

“You’re pretty sure I don’t mean it,” she replied, widening her eyes so she looked especially innocent and guileless. “But you’ve never seen my father and brother and cousin. In comparison to them, you seem like you could blow away in a strong wind.”

“Olenna’s grandson’s boyfriend is more handsome, the men of your family are better-built… you’re going to give me a complex.” Had she imagined that Jason might have a moment’s doubt in his own appeal? He was walking backward and facing her while laughing, untroubled, his ego bulletproof. “So… dinner. I think it’s chicken marsala or veal piccata. You okay with those?”

She sighed with a sense of deep foreboding, like if she did this, something irrevocable would change between them, and it might not be for the best. “But—”

“ _Scurvy_ , Brienne. _Rickets,_ ” he interrupted. “Get the kids situated and meet me at my place in five minutes.”

She tried her best to scowl, truly she did, but her mouth kept smiling in spite of herself, because she was so darned happy that he cared enough to bully her into eating with him. It wasn’t charity, she told herself, it was only sharing food with a friend who had plenty.

“Okay?” he said, nudging her with his elbow, and Brienne looked up from where she’d been grinning stupidly down at Edgar to find Jason watching her with a inquisitive expression, his gaze amused but gentle.

“Okay.”

She scurried into her own apartment, feeling bashful, and went through the motions of feeding everyone, her nerves increasingly jangled. She went to the bathroom to wash up, thinking maybe a bit of cold water on her hot face could help settle her down.

A meal with Jason! It was almost date-like. _What if— was it even_ _possible_ _that—_

But when she straightened from splashing her face, she stared into the mirror over the sink and knew that _nothing_ was possible. Her face was exactly as square, with its heavy jaw and blunt cheekbones, as ever. Her nose was just as busted, her lips every bit as over-full. Her hair was its usual pale limp self. The only thing she had to recommend herself, her eyes, seemed to make the rest of her seem uglier in comparison.

No, there was no way in all seven hells that Jason was able to feel anything for her besides companionship. This was just another Renly thing, where a handsome man befriended her and she mistook it for something it could never be. Jason was very different from Renly, but the situation was identical. Brienne had pined for Renly for a long while, _too_ long, had made herself miserable and vowed never to do it again.

And besides, hadn’t she sworn off men? Yes, she had. Edgar was the only man for her, she’d vowed, and now she had Pod as well. And Bruce, and Jackson Polly, and two of the bearded lizards and three of the ducklings were male, as well. If you counted her family and friends, she had more men in her life than she could handle. There was no way she could shoehorn in another.

 _There, that’s settled_ , she told herself, but didn’t feel any better at all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone's kind compliments! Please enjoy this chapter :)

~*~

Brienne groped for the towel and dried off, then headed for the door. She might never have anything besides friendship with Jason, but… friends were good. Friends were important. She loved hers dearly. There was nothing wrong with having another one.

At Jason’s door, she lifted her hand to knock just as it swung open to reveal the man himself.

“Oh,” he said as she lowered her hand. “You were taking so long, I thought you’d changed your mind. I was about to come drag you over.”

“No dragging needed,” she replied. “I’m here.”

It was said quietly, almost whispered, because she was nervous about sharing a meal in his home, but even so, she couldn’t keep from smiling, just a little.

Jason’s smile faded to a slight curve of lips. He just _looked_ at her, his eyes soft, almost glowing. Brienne felt like she was glowing, too. _Maybe this isn’t so great of an idea_. But he looked so darned happy, she didn’t have the heart to disappoint him as she followed him into his apartment.

Brienne had not had opportunity to see inside his place… at least, not while he was residing there. The prior tenant, Walder Frey, had been a nice man, but contemporary decor had not been a priority for him. Under his ownership, the apartment had retained its decor from when he’d married his third wife– or had it been his fourth?– and it had still boasted avocado-green shag carpeting and orangey-stained paneling the last time Brienne had been inside. The kitchen, she recalled, had been a mustard-yellow wonderland of bad judgment and questionable choices.

She was glad to see Jason had made extensive changes. The interior was bachelor-like, if the bachelor had gobs of money and and wasn’t afraid to spend it with abandon. The walls were pale gray, and the furniture was all either darker gray tweed or beautiful green leather. There were a few touches of brass around the place, but otherwise it was very plain. Despite the starkness, however, it was restful and cozy. She liked it, and said so.

“I did it all myself!” He beamed at her, the force of it almost knocking her backward. “My family’s colors are gold and red and it’s on everything and I’m sick of it. So I asked myself, what colors are the direct opposite of gold and red? Silver, or gray, and green!”

Brienne wondered— not for the first time— about the desire to distance himself from his family as he led her through the living room to the dining room, but it didn’t seem the time to ask invasive questions. She took the seat he indicated at the kitchen table as he began bustling around, extracting containers from the sleek steel fridge.

“So, it’s chicken marsala. That still okay?” he asked, seeming quite cheerful as he peered into the fridge and emerged with a storage container.

“Sure.” Sansa had turned Brienne on to the wonders of all things lemony. “And it’ll keep the scurvy at bay, too.”

He flashed her a grin and clapped a skillet onto the stove, adding the contents of the container. He rummaged in a drawer for a wooden spoon and used it to poke at the food as it started to hiss and sizzle. “Salad? Wine?”

“Salad,” Brienne said faintly, suddenly nervous in a way she hadn’t before experienced with Jason. “No wine.”

A dozen thoughts teemed around her head, foremost of them _this is beginning to seem_ _very_ _date-like_ and _I really need to keep from getting my hopes up_ and _one-hundred percent chance of a broken heart_ and _fuck it, let’s do this_.

That last one sounded far more like Sandor than herself but he had decent instincts in most things. If there were a person it was wise to channel, he was one of the better contenders.

A plate of salad was put before her, and he was handing her silverware when his hand seemed to lose strength and went lax, the fork and knife dropping to the floor. Cersei hurried forward to investigate— could it be food?— but sagged in disappointment when she realized the sad truth. Brienne blinked up at her neighbor, but he swiftly turned away, snatching up the fallen utensils and chucking them in the sink, then returning with more.

Once he’d successfully handed them to her, he sat across from her with his own plate of salad.

“So, 3D printing,” she began after a minute of silence, feeling stupid. She hadn’t ever struggled for conversation with him before and she prayed she wouldn’t do or say anything to make him think she had expectations of any sort beyond friendship. “That sounds…”

He looked up, chewing, waiting patiently for her to finish.

“Baffling,” she concluded. “I don’t know even the first thing about it… what you do with what you make, how to make it at all…”

“It’s like art, like sculpting, but instead of using a hammer and chisel, I design what I want the final product to look like and have the printer do all the work.”

“Wow!” Brienne was more than a little impressed, not only that such a thing was possible, but that Jason would be so creative. “So you’re an artist?”

It was odd that she was just finding out about this now, after months of knowing Jason, and a pang of guilt tightened her belly. She ought to have asked long before that point. She was a bad friend.

He was smiling in response to her question, she realized, but it wasn’t a happy smile; rather a grim one, actually. He looked unusually tense, with a set to his shoulders that put her in mind of someone gearing up for battle.

“Just the opposite, really,” he said at last, and his tone was… off. Harsh like she’d never heard from him before, and there was a cynical cast to his face that seemed utterly foreign, like there was a stranger in Jason’s body.

Something about how she stared in confusion had him blink at her, an unreadable expression there and gone in a heartbeat, and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he let out a deep breath, and then he was himself again.

“I make prosthetics for amputees,” he said, possibly the last five words she’d expected from him. “The… bones for them, I guess you could say. It’s a newer method; we use medical imaging technology to create 3D models of the bones that they’ve lost, then create a network of cables for tendons, wiring for nerves, tubes for veins and arteries… It’s all covered by synthetic skin matched precisely to their own coloring, for a seamless join to the stump. It’s all done to create as close to perfect imitations of the lost parts as possible. We’re getting so good, it’s almost undetectable.”

But rather than sounding proud, his voice was still grim, and the look he sent her was apprehensive, his shoulders hunched against an expected blow. Recollection flickered in Brienne’s memory: how he hadn’t stirred a muscle when she’d touched his hand when he was asleep, that night that Peachy had been born, and how he hadn’t flickered a muscle when Jackson Polly had dug sharp talons into his hand. And the way he’d dropped the silverware, only a few minutes earlier.

_Oh._

With the realization that he had one of the prosthetics himself came a flood of emotions: amazement at how damned good it was, since she hadn’t had a clue even after knowing him for months; curiosity, to know how he’d lost his hand; and most of all, overwhelmingly, dismay that he’d undergone such a trauma. The pain he’d endured, the sense of loss, must have been devastating, and she ached for how he’d suffered.

Brienne was on her feet before she quite knew what she was doing, circling the table until she stood at his side. He turned on his chair to face her, frowning up at her for a moment, confused, and Brienne rued that she was so awful at this. Awkwardly, she held her arms out stiffly, knowing she looked more crucified than comforting, but it seemed to communicate what she was offering.

Jason looked thunderstruck for a second before taking full advantage, leaning forward to bury his face against her stomach and winding his arms around her hips. Having him against her, closer than they’d ever been before, had her heart doing the jitterbug so fiercely that she was sure he could feel it. Slowly, she put her own arms around his shoulders, loosely at first, but when Jason pressed deeper into her embrace, seeking more contact, she tightened them until she was clasping him snugly.

And oh, it was wonderful. _He_ was wonderful. He smelled delicious, was so solid and warm, and his clasp gave her the oddest sense of safety and security, reminding her of her father and the bear hugs he’d given her as a child. Gradually, he seemed to relax against her, his tension fading.

“Not that this isn’t nice,” Jason said after a minute, the words muffled against her shirt, “but… why?”

“You looked like you needed a hug. We all do, sometimes.”

“So I can hug you whenever I want?” He sounded eager, that heartbreaking desire for affection of his asserting itself again, but there was also a thread of… something underlying it. Something a little dirty-sounding.

“I mean,” Brienne said, a trifle desperate at that point, “if you’re having a rough day, or don’t feel well, or are lonely? Maybe?”

“Maybe?” There was a smile in his voice; the pest was teasing her, knowing how she was struggling.

She exhaled hard, giving a put-upon sigh so he knew how much of a trial he was to her. “I guess. Yes. Just come and hug me, if you need to.”

His embrace shifted, his fists unknotting from the small of her back to flatten out, pressing warmly against her spine, and he rubbed his face against her midriff almost like a cat scent-marking one of its family. It felt oddly as if Jason were _claiming_ her with the motion, and longing flitted through her chest, familiar and unwelcome.

“Our dinner…” she said, hating how breathless she sounded. “It’s going to burn.” Jason said nothing, only burrowed deeper against her, and she had to smile even as she tapped his shoulders in an effort to mobilize him. “We need to eat. Come on.”

Nothing.

“Jason, we can’t hug each other all night,” said Brienne. She put her hands on his head, in hopes of prying him away, but his hair was silky and soft, the ends curling around her fingers, and she just ended up stroking him as she’d wanted to do since the very first day they met.

He gave a happy sigh and leaned more of his weight into her. “Sure we can.”

It made an image rise in her mind’s eye, of them embracing until the morning, and of course it was in a bed, because who’d stand in a kitchen for hours and hours? No, they were in a big bed with flowing white sheets and their legs were tangled and Jason’s face was pressed to her throat and then he tilted his head back and she tilted hers forward and kissed him and—

“We—” she croaked, giving a hoarse little cough to clear her throat. “We’re going to have to institute some rules for hugging, if you’re going to be like this.”

“Rules for hugging?” his tone was amused, a little disbelieving, and yes, it was stupid, but if Brienne were to keep her sanity, and her imagination under control… yes. She needed some rules.

“A maximum number of hugs per day,” she said, “and a time limit for each one.”

He gave a dismissive huff into her shirt. “Fine,” he said, “maximum number of hugs per day is twenty, and the time limit is one minute.”

She’d go stark-raving mad from thwarted desire. “Two hugs per day, time limit five seconds.”

That would be okay, right? One hug the first time in a day they saw each other in a day, and one when they said farewell at night? And five seconds was a little past the usual spent during a greeting or farewell, but it wouldn’t be too weird, would it?

“Unreasonable,” Jason declared. “What if I’m having a _very_ bad day? Ten seconds total isn’t nearly enough time to erase a _very_ bad day.” His breath was hot, warming the fabric of her shirt, sinking into her skin under the cloth. “A dozen hugs, time limit thirty seconds.”

“Ridiculous. We can’t just stand around clamped to each other for that long, that often.”

“We don’t have to _stand_ ,” he murmured, and a flush crashed over her in a tsunami of desire. He had no idea what he was doing to her, would be appalled at the horizontal direction her thoughts were taking.

“Six,” she said in desperation. “Six hugs, ten seconds long. That’s my final offer.”

“Done,” said Jason right away. And still didn’t let her go. She could feel his lips moving against her when he spoke, it was so much like a kiss, she _had_ to get away—

“This one has to have been a few minutes by now,” she informed him. “You’ve used up _days_ worth, at this point.”

“I didn’t get any hugs at all until now, and I really needed them,” he protested. “You owe me.”

She blinked and pried herself free. “I _owe_ you?”

He had the grace to look sheepish. “That didn’t come out the way I meant.”

She stared at him from narrowed eyes. “How did you mean it?”

“I just…” He raked a hand through his hair, mussing it and making her want to comb her fingers through it to tidy him up. “I want my full allotment.”

The last was said with a bit of a pout, and Brienne couldn’t hold back her laugh. A man his age, acting like that…

“I think you’ll manage,” she said, making for her side of the table once more. He reached out to grab her back but she darted nimbly out of reach and was forking in another mouthful of salad before he’d fully rotated back to face the table.

When they were done with their salad, Jason stood and stirred the skillets’ contents before pouring each onto new plates. He placed a steaming meal of fantastic-smelling chicken marsala, pungent with lemons and studded with mushrooms before her. Brienne dug in right away, and the taste of it had her eyes closing as a shameful-sounding moan escaped.

“It’s so good,” she whimpered, swallowing her first bite, but he was silent. She opened her eyes and found Jason frozen, utensils in mid-air and dripping marsala sauce back onto his plate, as he stared at her. Her face warmed and she knew she’d turned scarlet.

“ ‘M sorry,” she muttered, hunching over her meal. “My manners suck, I know.” She looked up and pointed her fork at him. “But in my defense, my usual dinner companions are not human, so I’m out of practice with polite company, or controlling my reaction to food that has actually been cooked instead of only assembled.”

He blinked at her, and applied himself to his own plate. “It’s fine,” he said at length. “I was just surprised.”

He spent the meal talking non-stop between bites of chicken, and Brienne watched and listened in comfortable mostly-silence. Cersei resigned herself to catching no wayward scraps at all, put her head down on her paws, and fell asleep.

“Thank you,” Brienne said when they were done and she was hovering on his doorstep, knowing she had to go back to her own apartment but reluctant to leave him, as she was every evening. “It was good. Especially since it wasn’t a tuna sandwich.”

Jason nodded, a faint smiling flitting across his face in recognition of her lame little joke. “We should have dinner together again,” he said slowly, as if he were picking his words with care, watching for her reaction.

“Okay,” she agreed, because there was nothing she wanted more: she could spend an extra hour with him, and get to eat far better grub than she’d make for herself. “When?”

“Tomorrow,” he replied immediately, and followed it with a quick, “Every night from now on, in fact.” When she opened her mouth to protest he continued, “How else am I supposed to make sure you’re feeding yourself properly?”

“But—”

“ _Rickets_ ,” he interrupted forcefully, but his grin was like the sunrise. “ _Scurvy_.”

It was so ridiculous, _he_ was ridiculous, and wonderful, and honestly, how could she resist?

“Okay,” Brienne said again, trying to stifle a grin of her own. She knew he was doing it because it would save her a bundle in groceries, in the only way she would accept help from him. _He’s smarter than he lets on._

But she could tell it was also because he was eager for companionship, to the point of being a little clingy. Then she acknowledged that she had come to _enjoy_ his clinginess. Knowing that she was important to him– that she _mattered_ to him, even if only as a friend– made her ridiculously happy.

If this were an actual date, then would be the time where she’d kiss him, or he’d kiss her, and she wanted it so much she ached. _Time to leave._ She turned to return to her apartment, but he stopped her, pulling her against him for another hug.

“I’m allotted a few more for today, aren’t I?” he murmured in her ear, and she couldn’t hold back the shiver caused by his smooth baritone in her ear, the heat of his breath on her neck. It was _vastly_ different, hugging him while standing, than it had been when he’d been seated; they were of a height, cheeks pressed together, their mouths mere inches apart. It would take almost no effort to turn her head, to cover his lips with hers, and she wanted it, wanted it, wanted it.

“If you think I’m going to stand in the hallway hugging you all night, you’re crazy,” she informed him.

He tensed, and she heard his indrawn breath, as if he were gearing up to say something. But then he relaxed once more, almost melting against her in a way that had her pulse thrumming in her veins.

“Yeah, that’s impractical,” was what he ended up saying. “This counts as one, so I have some left over. I’ll bank them for when I have a bad day and need extra.”

Even though she’d like nothing better than to stay wrapped in his embrace, Brienne couldn’t let that pass. Pulling away, she rolled her eyes at him. “You can’t bank the overages.”

“Who says?” he demanded, but he was grinning.

“ _I_ say.”

“Fine, fine,” he pretended to grumble, but his face was lit with humor and pleasure. “Good night, Brienne.”

She gave him one last smile and backed away toward her apartment. He watched her go, his eyes warm and soft, and as soon as she shut her door she leaned against it and just… _thought_ about him.

That had been a rather strange evening, wending along twists and turns she’d not in a million years have expected. She would have to be careful, because it was becoming clear that Jason had little sense of self-preservation when it came to his efforts on behalf of others. It was a relief to have someone to help her when the going got tough, but she must not let herself take advantage of him. Friendship worked both ways; if he was going to help her, she needed to help him, too, even if it was to protect him from himself.

When she looked down again, it was to find almost every animal in the apartment at her feet, staring up at her in puzzlement.

“Who wants to watch a movie on the laptop?” she asked them.

Juanita appeared to be their spokes-pig, and gave a hearty oink in response, so Brienne scooped her up in one arm, and Peachy in the other, and they all got comfortable on the sofa. Pod looked lonely, as if he were yearning for Cersei’s bountiful charms, and he wasn’t the only one yearning— Brienne wished Jason were there with them, too. She could imagine him mocking the comedy’s terrible jokes, the sly way he’d glance over at her to see if she found him funny… and the way his arm would feel around her shoulders as she nestled close into his side.

 _No_ , she thought, sternly, digging the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, until fireworks burst behind her eyelids. _You’re only making it worse._

When she finally went to bed, Brienne lay there in the dark, surrounded by Bruce and Peachy on the bed and everyone else ranged around her on the floor. She thought about how difficult it was becoming to be around Jason and have to cope with her longing for him,and how it grew day by day. Sometimes hour by hour— she could almost feel her affection for him expand, could practically measure how much more she cared for him at the end of a day than she had at the beginning.

There was going to come a point where it reached critical mass and overflowed its bounds and she’d make a fool of herself revealing it to him. It was only a matter of time. She hoped it wouldn’t make him so uncomfortable that he wanted to stop spending time with her. There was a tiny thread of fear that he’d mock her for it, or be disgusted but… no. He was gentle and kind, and he cared for her, too… as a friend. He’d be sweet about it. And she’d just have to find a way to deal with her embarrassment.

Groaning, she tried to pull a pillow over her face, but Bruce had been sitting on it and she displaced him. He took it ill, giving an indignant meow.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she told him. “Come back.”

He apparently decided that she was properly contrite and let her tuck him against her chest, arm loosely around his fuzzy body.

“Good night,” she said, to Bruce, and the others, and to Jason, even though he could not hear her. “Sleep well.”


	7. Chapter 7

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~*~

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It seemed as if Brienne’s relationship with Jason had very much turned a corner, after that. The allotment of six hugs was forgotten, Jason embracing her closely every time they saw each other and every time they parted at a minimum, and at various points in-between as well. Brienne was certain she should have scolded him, kept it to the agreed-upon six, that she shouldn’t have agreed to anything in the first place, but… she was shamefully weak where he was concerned. He was able to convince her of all sort of nonsense.

The hugs, to begin with, and giving her dinner each night… which soon turned into breakfast the next morning: when he stepped from his apartment with Cersei to join her and hers for their morning walk, it was with some sort of breakfast sandwich in his hand, which he promptly handed to her along with a juice box he’d extract from a pocket and watch her like a hawk until she ate and drank every bit. She wouldn’t admit it, but she felt more energized with a solid meal in her, and less tired when she ended her days at the clinic.

It didn’t take long for him to start forcing lunches on her, too. He would hand her a paper sack full of something healthy and delicious after she’d returned her critters to her apartment. Or on those occasions when he hadn’t any lunch-type things to offer, he’d have lunch sent to the clinic from a nearby restaurant, and not only for her, but for everyone.

“I swear, Brienne, if you don’t marry this guy, I will,” Gilly told her around a mouthful of pizza he’d had sent to the clinic for everyone one afternoon.

“You’re already married,” Brienne said, her mild tone at direct odds with the flash of dismay she experienced at the idea of Jason taking up with anyone. Anyone but her, that was. But she’d have to get used to the idea, for it was unrealistic to expect him to be single forever.

No, one day Jason would announce to her that he was seeing someone, or perhaps Brienne would see a woman leaving his apartment early one morning when it was time to walk the animals.

 _That’s when I move to another apartment,_ she thought grimly, knowing there was no way she’d be able to withstand the heartache of watching him with someone else.

“For a guy like that, I could leave Sam,” Gilly shot back, but there was a sparkle in her warm brown eyes that said she was lying. Everyone knew she thought the sun rose and set because of her pudgy maester. “So you better get moving before I decide to steal him from you.”

“You can’t steal him from me if he’s not mine in the first place,” Brienne protested. “We’re friends. Nothing else.”

Gilly only laughed and bit into a garlic knot, grinning as she chewed.

“I think Gilly is right,” said Gendry as he selected his second slice of pizza. “I speak as a fellow straight man. Unless he’s gay, in which case… uh, maybe talk to someone else? Didn’t you say the scary old lady next door to you has a gay grandson?”

“Yeah, Brienne, ask Loras if it’s normal for gay dudes to treat their hags like this Jason guy treats you,” suggested Robb as he rifled through the clinic mail with one hand, pizza slice in the other. He grinned at her, chewing noisily.

Brienne stared at him in disbelief. _Hag?_ “Robb, you’re a pig.”

He fended off her insult with an airy wave of the envelope he was about to open. “But if he’s straight, I’m telling you… he’s into you. _Romantically._  There’s no way he’d worry about how you eat, and do all the other things for you, if he weren’t.”

“Yes, he would,” she muttered stubbornly, staring down at her half-finished slice. “Now stop talking about it, or I’ll tell him to stop sending us food here.”

Chastened and frightened by the specter of losing their free food, the others clammed up, but Brienne just _knew_ they were still thinking about it.

She kept thinking about it, too, but more from the point of view of how much he must be shelling out to feed her. The past week had seen him giving her sacks of dry food for the dogs, too, with a too-casual comment about how he’d ‘accidentally’ bought too much for Cersei so Brienne ‘might as well’ have the extra bags. It was expensive, top-quality food that they sold in the clinic but, ironically, cost more than Brienne could ever hope to afford for her own pets.

“Oh, no,” said Robb, dragging Brienne from her mental perambulations. Brienne looked his way and found his normal ruddy color had gone pale, edging on gray. “Oh, no. Shit.”

Blinking, she leaned forward, trying to upside-down read the contents of the letter he was staring at in alarm.

It was on heavy cream stock and embossed in gold with a rampant lion. “Lannister Enterprises” read the name across the top in a posh font. Brienne blinked in surprise and apprehension at the barrage of memories the name provoked in her.

Three years earlier, when she and Robb had just graduated from veterinary school, Lannister Enterprises had initially tried to effect a hostile takeover of Stark Industries. When the Starks had managed to fight them off, the Lannisters entered upon a campaign to destroy the company altogether. It had taken one of the Lannisters being badly hurt— something about a mine collapse?— to pry them away from their efforts to ruin the Starks.

If the letter came from Lannister Enterprises, that could only mean bad news.

When Robb didn’t speak, only stared down at the innocuous leaf of paper with dismay, Brienne slipped the letter from his frozen hand and began to read.

It seemed that the building had been acquired by Lannister Enterprises Realty Management, Ltd., and henceforth the clinic’s rent would be twice what it had been before. The letter went on to state that, if they did not wish to renew their lease at the new rent, they were to vacate the premises by the end of the month. Which was in eleven days.

And sure, fine, maybe the letter did make mention of how they’d been getting an unreasonable bargain up until that point, and now the rent would be far more in line with what similar facilities were paying nearby, but still… this was a death knell for them. There was no way they could scrape together even more rent. They were barely hanging on as it was.

“What are we going to do?” she asked through numb lips.

“We can’t afford a rent hike,” he said, his mouth a grim line as he stood. “We can’t even afford a few hundred more a month, let alone doubling…” He planted his hands on his hips and looked away, tension clear in every muscle.

“We’re going to have to close,” Brienne whispered, looking up from the letter to find Gilly and Gendry gaping in shock, too. She couldn’t even offer to take a pay cut: her salary was barely enough for her to get by as it was.

 _Disaster_. Not only for the clinic’s animals— they were one of the only no-kill places in all of King’s Landing— but the employees had built a wonderful, close-knit family over the years of working together. Gilly had met her Sam when he came to volunteer, Robb had brought Sansa along to drinks night one evening and Brienne had introduced her to Sandor. Brienne had even met both Hyle and Tormund there when they’d brought their pets for care. The Grey Wind Clinic & Shelter was more than merely a workplace, and more even than a place to save and help animals.

“I can ask my parents,” Robb ventured after a moment, but the look on his face was dismayed.

“You’ve done everything you can to avoid that,” said Brienne. She wanted the clinic to continue, but she also didn’t want her friend forced into something he really was adverse to. “They’ve barely recovered from all that mess from a few years ago.”

“You do realize you’ll be losing your job,” said Robb with a wry smile. “Why are you talking me out of it?”

“I can find another job, no problem,” she lied with a wave of the hand, pretending to be fine with it. “You can’t commit yourself in a way that you hate to give me a salary. This is a clinic, not an employment agency.”

He huffed out a deep breath of resignation and hung his head. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. That’s what we’ll do, then. We’ll close.” He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

Brienne stood and gave him a hug, gratefully received. They were just about the same age but there was something so boyishly idealistic about him that sometimes she felt even her own unrealistic naivety to be jaded and worldly in comparison.

“Why don’t you go home?” she said. “There’s not much left to do for the day. Gilly and Gendry and I can handle everything.”

“No, you,” he countered. “You had a rough morning. If anyone should go home early, it’s you.”

It _had_ been a rough morning, with Brienne having to euthanize a cat who’d been struck by a minivan. Then a pregnant dog with pre-eclampsia had gone into early labor and lost all her puppies.

And her fellow inhabitants of the building continued to call on her for free veterinary care, which of course she didn’t mind, but if it weren’t the Martells worried that their snakes weren’t paying enough attention to their eggs, it was Edmure Tully fretting over his bettas overeating or the Boltons concerned that their leeches were unusually lethargic. Just that morning, Olenna Tyrell had nabbed Brienne as she was escaping her apartment for work, to say that her chinchillas, Left and Right, ‘seemed off’.

Brienne acquiesced to Robb’s suggestion with grace and was on her way back to the apartment building within five minutes. It was a little disconcerting to step from the elevator to the penthouse floor and not see Jason and Cersei there— they’d taken to anticipating her arrival and waiting for her the moment she arrived home— but it wasn’t even one o’clock yet; she was hours early.

 _Might as well go see what’s up with the chinchillas,_  she thought, and knocked on Olenna’s door.

But the moment the old woman opened it, instead of presenting the smile and cheerful inquiry as to the rodents’ health she had planned, Brienne found her face crumpling as she fought to hold back a torrent of tears.

“Oh, my dear,” said Olenna, and despite barely reaching the middle of Brienne’s chest, managed to fold her in an encompassing hug. “What is it?”

Brienne did the world’s best sheep impression as she warbled about the day’s events past the lump in her throat.

“I’m sorry, Brienne, but I can’t understand you,” Olenna said, even as she stroked Brienne’s hair the way Brienne did the dogs. “Come inside, you’ll have to calm down a bit, first, I think.”

But then the door behind Brienne— Jason’s door— opened.

“Brienne?” he said. “It’s early, but I thought I heard you out here—” He stopped short, no doubt in surprise at the sight of diminutive Olenna embracing a woman almost twice her size. “Did something happen?”

Brienne refused to turn around and show him how exponentially uglier she was when crying. If she was homely under regular circumstances, she could crack windows right down the middle when her cheeks and neck were blotchy, eyes were brilliant red against the blue irises, and her face was swollen up like a big freckled moon.

“No,” she said, but the clogged and nasal sound of her voice proved her lie. And because her luck sucked, he would not simply accept her obvious fib and go back inside his apartment.

“ _Something_ happened,” he said, and then he was there, his big warm hand on her arm, turning her to face him. “What is it?”

She chanced a look and found, instead of an expression of concern, his handsome face somehow fierce and cold at the same time.

“What’s wrong, Brienne? Did someone hurt you?” Even his voice had changed, from its usual warm tone to something deadly and a little frightening. “Who was it? Tell me.”

Brienne could only stare, so surprised was she at his behavior. This was nothing like the Jason she’d come to know. This was someone completely different, and for a moment she was so weirded out that she was speechless.

“Oh, stop hounding her, you idiot,” Olenna said at last, and shoved at Jason’s shoulder. It had as much effect as if she’d shoved at a boulder, but Brienne appreciated the effort. “She’s had some bad news about her job.”

Brienne sniffled. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “Do you know each other yet? Miss Olenna, this is Jason Caster-Leigh. Jason, Olenna Tyrell.”

Olenna gave him a flat, unimpressed stare. “Jason Caster-Leigh,” she repeated tonelessly. “Is that right.”

The scary cold Jason left as quickly as he’d come and the regular one was back. To Brienne’s amazement, a faint pinkness rose in his cheeks, then faded away just as quickly.

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Olenna,” he said politely, and there was something to it that made him seem more like a chastised boy than a six-foot-plus man of thirty-something years.

“A pleasure, is it? I doubt it.” She waved him off. “Go away and let me cheer the poor girl up.”

“I could cheer her up, too,” he said, sounding sullen, but let himself be shooed back across the hall.

“She doesn’t need _your_ brand of cheering up,” was the pithy response, which only confused Brienne more. Jason shot the old woman an unfriendly glance and shut the door with an offended click.

Olenna sped into action, which was to say, she had Brienne walk beside her at her glacial arthritic pace into her apartment, settling her into a plush loveseat upholstered in a lurid shade of green velvet.

Olenna’s housekeeper, a cowed little mouse of a woman whose name Brienne had never learned, darted into the room and stood, quivering, while awaiting direction. “Tea,” Olenna commanded her, and she scurried off. “Now, dear, tell me what’s happened.”

Brienne took a deep breath and swiped the remaining tears from her face. “I had to euthanize a cat. I lost a whole litter of puppies. And some management company bought the building. The rent’s doubled and Robb can’t afford it. We’re closing by the end of the month.”

“Hm,” was all Olenna said, but her eyes were shrewd.

The housekeeper flitted back in, a tray vibrating in her hands. Brienne thought she must have a kettle on the boil at all times if she could return that quickly, but with Olenna as a mistress, that might well be the case. The housekeeper set the tray on the elegant tea table and fled without a word. As if it were perfectly normal behavior and not the indication of a nigh-crippling nervous condition, Olenna merely took up the fat little teapot and began to pour.

“Help yourself to the cookies, dear,” she said while fixing the tea to her own taste, Brienne’s cup as well as her own. It did not appear to occur to her that Brienne might not want cream or two lumps of sugar, but that was how she doctored it. It was too sweet and milky, but comforting and exactly what Brienne needed. She gulped down the rest of it and was given more.

“I will make a donation, of course,” Olenna finally said.

“Oh, no, that’s— I couldn’t—” she stopped, because the other woman’s face was becoming more and more forbidding.

They’d been through this before, with Olenna offering a generous gift to help the clinic and Brienne refusing and Olenna haughtily informing her not to _dare_ tell her what to do with her own damned money.

“Thank you,” Brienne ended up saying in a very small voice.

Olenna gave her a satisfied smile and nod. “You’re learning,” she said with approval. Then, as Brienne brought her cup to her lips, “Now tell me what’s going on with that delicious man across the hall.”

Brienne almost choked in her effort to keep from hosing Olenna down with a mouthful of tea. “Nothing,” she gasped when she had managed to swallow. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Hm,” said Olenna, her tone carefully devoid of all inflection. Somehow, it seemed even more judgmental.

“Really! We’re friends. We walk the animals every night. And in the mornings. And also mid-day on my days off.” Brienne replaced the teacup on the table and cupped her knees in her palms. “We have dinner. He’s…” She groped for the right word to describe him but failed, and settled for, “…nice.”

“Nice.” Olenna put her own cup down and observed Brienne in a way that made her feel like a rabbit being watched by a hungry eagle. “Ja— _Jason_ _Caster-Leigh._ Is _nice_.”

“Yes,” said Brienne slowly. “He’s… he’s _very_ nice. Do you know him already?”

“I know his family,” said Olenna. “Thought I knew _him_ , but apparently was mistaken. This _Jason Caster-Leigh_ is someone I’ve never met before.” She peered closely at Brienne, but it was kind and sort of wearily affectionate. “Be careful with him, won’t you, dear? He’s terribly far out of your league.”

Brienne couldn’t help the flinch, even though Olenna was correct. Jason had gone from a 38 to a 52 as she grew closer to him, came to care for him, and Brienne was still, as always, only a three.

“No, no, I don’t mean it that way, you stupid girl,” Olenna admonished. “You know me better than that, by now. I only meant that he is far more… _more_ than you realize.”

“More what?”

“More everything. I’m not sure you can handle his… intensity.”  

“I thought you didn’t know him?”

Olenna’s faded brown eyes sharpened. “As I said, I’m familiar with his family, and apples don’t fall far from trees with that nest of jackals. They are people of great appetites, and can be ruthless in satisfying them. Don’t assume you really know anything about him, and for the gods’ sakes, girl, be careful with your heart. If there’s a man on the planet who can crush it, it’s him.”

Brienne stared at her in astonishment. “Okay, first of all, there’s nothing like that between us. Secondly, you’ve got him all wrong. He’s not ruthless. He’s a goofy motormouth with too much free time on his hands.”

But Olenna only looked at her in pity. “Well,” she said, “for your sake, I certainly hope I’m wrong. But,” and here she heaved a sigh that sounded full of genuine regret, “I rarely am.”

Brienne pressed her lips together in exasperation. She loved Olenna like the cantankerous grandmother she’d never wanted, but her day had not exactly improved upon returning home. She was eager to get to her own apartment so she could cover herself in ducklings and try to cheer up.

“Let me take a look at Left and Right,” she said, and made her way to the lavish microcosm Olenna had commissioned for them. One at a time, she scooped them, out, examined them, and diagnosed an imbalanced diet.

“They’re suffering from carb overload. No more starchy veg like peas and corn. Give them raw spinach with their pellets, some raw egg once in a while. Seeds, but not too many at once.”

Olenna vowed it would be so, and released Brienne at long last to the hallway. She stood outside Olenna’s door for a long moment, head down, just breathing so she didn’t enter her apartment in a sour mood, then went to her own door. At that moment, Jason’s flew open.

“Good timing,” Brienne said, offering up a weak smile.

“Yes,” he said. “Timing.” His cheeks turned the slightest bit pink again. “I know it’s a little early, still,” he said, “but do you want to take everyone for a walk? A good long one. Maybe to the other park?”

It was farther away from their usual park down the street, but bigger, with wooden benches that Brienne’s backside much preferred over the stone ones at the closer park. They only had time to go there on weekends, and the idea of it on a weekday felt like an indulgence. She wondered when her life had gotten so dull that this was exciting to her.

“Sure,” she said, and found herself smiling at him, just a little. Boring her life might be, but at least she had him to liven it up.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your kind comments, and for reading! Hope you enjoy this chapter. 
> 
> All recognition to my betas, Mikki (ikkiM) and sea_spirit for their invaluable help and suggestions <3

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~*~

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Jason smiled back at Brienne, looking pleased as punch she was a bit more cheery. “Open the floodgates,” he said, squaring his shoulders. “I’m ready.”

She suppressed a grin and threw open her door. Out poured her menagerie, pelting right past her to their beloved, who crouched down to welcome them all to his bosom. She only watched with a wry smile at how easily she’d been replaced in their hearts, but didn’t mind so much. She’d enjoyed the affection of so many wonderful animals, and the hungry way Jason accepted the adoration of this motley bunch suggested he was far more in need of it than she was.

“Hello, Edgar,” she said to the dog, who’d come to her after greeting Jason, and shook his paw. “Nice to meet you again.”

She popped into her apartment for the leashes, and to put the ducklings in the tub. Finally, they were on their way, everyone perking up to realize they were headed in the direction of the other park.

Their walk there passed as usual. Jason yammered on about gods-knew-what as Brienne contributed occasional noises of acknowledgment, but it was hard for her to feign her regular state of mind when she was still in turmoil. By the time they’d arrived at the park, Jason had quieted, too, which only made her feel worse.

Brienne was very grateful for Jason’s efforts to cheer her up, but her thoughts kept returning to the clinic’s fate, and what she’d do to support herself after it closed. She became so distracted that she didn’t realize when her companion’s chatter died out.

A light touch on her forearm pulled her from her contemplations.

“Will you tell me what happened?” he asked. “I’d like to help, if I can. Even if it’s only acting stupid to make you laugh.”

She couldn’t suppress a smile. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I don’t know if your dignity could survive it.”

“What dignity?” he said, tossing his hair with panache. “An easy sacrifice for the cause.” He paused. “I mean it, though. Let me do something?”

“You can… you can listen,” she said with a sigh. “That’s about all anyone can do.”

And so she told him— about Robb’s vision for the clinic, and his reluctance to burden his family with it. About how they’d have to scramble to find homes for the animals they had residing there, and how it was inevitable some of them would go to the other of King’s Landing’s shelters, most of which were sure to euthanize them. About how terrible she felt because she couldn’t fit any more in her apartment. About her worry for finding employment when she was laid off in a week and a half.

“I don’t want to work at one of the kill shelters,” she told him quietly, staring down at where she’d folded her hands in her lap to hide their trembling. “It’s one thing to put an animal down when it’s so ill or injured that keeping them alive would be cruel. It’s another to destroy them for the sake of convenience. And it’ll be all the imperfect ones who are euthanized, you know. The Edgars and Bruces and Juanitas who no one will want.”

She hated the quaver in her voice. She wasn’t outright crying, at least, though the lump in her throat had her sheep-voiced again.

A hand came into her downturned range of vision, and she glanced up to see him reaching out to her. Not sure what he wanted, she put her own hand out— was he giving her something? But he only clasped their hands together, letting them rest on the small stretch of bench between them.

Brienne stared down at their hands for a long, breathless moment. His palm was warm and hard, his fingers long and sinewy, and as she watched, he threaded them between her own. She studied him, searching for a hint of what his intent was, what he was doing, but he kept surveying the expanse of the park before them. He squeezed, and tears came to her eyes again, this time for an entirely different reason.

“I’m sorry,” Jason said at last. “Did you have any idea or warning this would happen?”

“None,” she managed after a moment. Her cheeks were burning and her throat was tight and her eyes stung with unshed tears, but his firm grip kept her from spinning away into misery. “Robb opened the mail today, and there was a letter from Lannister Enterprises saying it had bought the building and hey, your rent is now twice as much.”

She knew her tone was unusually scornful, but her contempt for that corporation was immense.

He tensed, his grasp on her hand tightening nearly to the point of pain before relaxing once more.

“Lannister, huh?” he  murmured, an odd note to his voice. “I can tell you’re not a fan.”

“No,” she said firmly. “They were terrible to my friend’s family, a few years ago. Tried to do a hostile takeover of their company. And then when they failed, tried to destroy the company altogether. The Starks almost went bankrupt.”

She recalled how grim Robb had been throughout the ordeal, how pale and withdrawn Sansa had been. Brienne was fond of the whole family, and it had been painful to watch their stoic misery as things had transpired.

Jason didn’t comment. Brienne twisted sideways on the bench so she could face him, expecting him to face her in return. He just continued to watch Rosy chase Cersei around the fountain in the center of the park, however, and she began to wonder… his family was wealthy, and possibly played at the same level of powerful companies as the Starks and Lannisters. And his face had acquired that same blank coldness she had seen an hour earlier, something that spoke of danger and fury.

“Did the Lannisters hurt you, too, somehow?” she asked gently, squeezing his hand.

Reluctantly, he dragged his gaze from the animals to her. 

“Yes,” was all he said, but there was a misery in his eyes that had her wanting to howl in rage and hit someone. Preferably whoever had made him so unhappy. He looked down at where their hands were joined and let out a weary sigh. “This doesn’t surprise me. They like buying real estate and jacking up the rents. It makes the tenants leave so they can renovate and resell for three times what they paid. It’s…” He paused and a cruel, disturbing little smirk curled his beautiful mouth. “It’s good business.”

“As long as you don’t care about destroying people’s lives,” Brienne commented, wondering at that smirk, but it faded, and he was just left looking sad. She found herself in the odd position of wanting to comfort him, now.

“No,” he agreed. “Lannisters don’t concern themselves with such inconsequential things as that.”

“That’s a horrible way to live.” She couldn’t imagine never thinking about how her actions would impact others. She’d seen the trail of suffering stretching back miles after the Lannisters had tried to destroy the Starks. The last time she’d seen Ned Stark, even three years later, he’d still looked gray and shaken and likely would for a decade to come.

“Yes. It is.”

His avoidance of meeting her eyes was really starting to bug her.

“Hey,” she said, and tugged on his hand until he looked at her, finally. “I thought  _ I _ was the one having the bad day. You’re supposed to be cheering  _ me _ up, not making me feel like I have to cheer  _ you _ up.”

“Am I doing that?” he murmured. His smile was back, and she couldn’t help returning it. “Apologies, milady.”

And then he shocked her by raising their linked hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to the freckled back of hers. 

It seemed to mean very little to him, because he just returned to watching the animals play, but to Brienne, it was a lightning bolt all through her. She stared at him in astonishment, at his perfect chiseled profile, and felt the clutch of longing in her chest solidify into something far more durable and profound than mere infatuation. With a hard swallow, she averted her eyes to look for where Bruce had gone to escape Juanita’s enthusiastic attempts to play. 

Perhaps it was for the best, losing her job. She could… she could go home, to Tarth. She knew her father and Galladon would welcome her back with open arms; they hadn’t wanted her to leave in the first place. She could take her time looking for something else, figure out if she wanted to make another long-distance move. Perhaps there was a ranch or farm up North, between Winterfell and the Wall, that needed a vet. She was certified for bovines as well as equines. Goats, sheep, cows, horses… she’d enjoy working with them again.

Or she could go back to school and get certified in marine medicine— with all the fisheries on Tarth, she’d probably be in great demand, keeping their stock healthy. She didn’t much relish the idea of acquiring more student debt, but the amount she owed was already so high, what was another ten thousand dragons? She’d be dead before the first loans were paid off, let alone anything extra she added on, so why not?

Jason squeezed her hand again, and she looked up from her silent musings to find him watching her, his brow creased in concern once more.

“I’ll take Bruce,” he said, and for a moment she was blank, but then—

“You will? Really?” It was like a weight lifted from her shoulders. “I’d been thinking of asking if you’d take Pod— at least for a little while— he and Cersei love each other, even if he can’t be a true boyfriend to her anymore—”

“I’ll take him, too,” said Jason.

Brienne could only stare, speechless. If the ducklings and Juanita and the goats were going to that farm, and he took the cat and Pod, that would only leave her to support Edgar and the bearded dragons and Jackson.

“I can’t do a lot for you, but I can do this much,” he continued. “Though I’d—” He cut himself off suddenly.

“You’d what?” she prompted after a few seconds, but he only shrugged and smiled.

“I’d starve to death if I waited for you to decide when it was time to go back and have dinner,” was what he ended up saying. He stood, tugging her to her feet.

They called to the animals, reattached their leashes, and began the walk back to the apartment building. Brienne, aware that she probably wouldn’t be able to do it for much longer, tried to be as present as possible as they ambled home. She craned her head back, looked all around, taking in the golden sunlight dappling the ground through the thickly-leaved trees lining the streets. There was charm in the uneven cobbles beneath her feet, and so much history inherent in the twists and turns of the ancient street.

And, most of all, she tried to absorb as much as possible about the man beside her. Jason was walking close enough that their shoulders brushed every few steps, only a fleeting little streak of heat through the fabric of their shirts. He smelled good, not of anything obvious like cologne or aftershave, something faintly woodsy, likely soap or shampoo, but she loved it. He was talking again— of course he was— and the sound of his voice washed over her, comforting and warm like a blanket on a cold morning.

“I’m going to miss you,” she said when he paused for breath, realizing only too late that she’d spoken her thought aloud.

“What?” Jason stopped short, and the face he turned to her was alarmed. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” Brienne replied, “but I probably won’t be able to find work here in KL. I might…” She shrugged. “Maybe go North. Or maybe south, to the Reach or even Dorne. Maybe school again. Maybe just home to Tarth. Maybe I shouldn’t have left in the first place.”

She didn’t know what reaction she expected, but it wasn’t the oddly determined set to his aristocratic features before he schooled it to his more teasing expression.

“Of course you should have,” he told her. “If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been able to meet  _ me _ .”

“The highlight of my life,” she said, her voice heavy with sarcasm, but… yes. It  _ was _ the highlight of her life.

He only laughed and bumped her shoulder with his. They began walking again. Brienne’s throat eased; he really was good at lifting her mood.

“Relax,” he said in the elevator. “I have a sense that things will work out.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” said Brienne as they stepped out onto the penthouse floor and parted for their respective doors.

“I have enough for both of us.”

“That you do.”

They grinned stupidly at each other a moment. Then Brienne cleared her throat and said, “When do you want to do the transfer?”

“Transfer?”

“Of Bruce and Pod to your place. Should we do it gradually? Let them spend the day with you while I’m at work, get used to your place. And then after a week, instead of coming home with me, they stay there?”

Jason nodded. “Sure. But not tomorrow. I have… an all-day meeting and might be back late. Have to leave early, too, so I won’t be able to walk with you in the morning, either.”

Brienne’s mouth formed an O of surprise; this would be the first time since they’d begun taking morning walks together, in addition to the evening ones, that he wouldn’t be joining her. The next day now loomed even bleaker than it had before. She’d come to rely on their half-hour together in the thin morning light as a sort of breakfast for her heart. It gave her mind the energy and strength to get through a long day, the way food fueled her body to do the same.

“Ah, okay,” was all she said, though, trying her best to hide her disappointment. She forced a smile. “Well, thank you, so much, for taking Pod and Bruce. It means a lot to me.” Her smile shifted to something more genuine. “I’m so relieved and happy.”

His gaze roamed over her face, avid, almost greedy, and she wondered what in the world he was looking for. He seemed perfectly satisfied, though, because he said, “Good. Good,” like he’d found what he sought.

_ You’re a strange man,  _ she thought,  _ and I love you.  _ The thought was terrifying, to even think about, let alone admit to herself but… there it was. She loved him. With an almost physical wrenching, she tore her eyes from him and turned away to her door, fumbling to unlock and open it.

“What the fuck is a Lommy?” demanded Jackson. “Fuck’s sake!”

The animals pushed past her, most to get to their water bowls and Edgar to the ducklings. Once she had ensured they were all fed, she joined Jason in his apartment for dinner.

As he ladled each of them a bowl of stew, Brienne noticed that Cersei didn’t watch his handling of the food as scrupulously as usual, glancing at the brimming dishes with scant interest as he carried them to the table. When Jason was seated, she displaced herself from her soft bed in the corner to plaster herself to his side, sitting on his foot and leaning against his leg.

“Oh, I was going to ask you about that,” he said, noticing Brienne’s observation of the dog. “She’s been acting a lot more like her namesake the past few days.”

_ Another strange comment about his sister. One of these days, I have to learn what happened between them. _ “What does that mean?” was all Brienne said, though.

“Drinking more than eating, possessive and standoffish at the same time… look.”

He put his hand on the golden’s head and stroked her silky fur. Cersei leaned away from his caress and shot him what Brienne could only term a glare. On that particular dog, who always behaved as if Jason were the second coming of Azor Ahai, it was extraordinary. When he retracted his hand, she returned to leaning close against his leg.

“Hm,” said Brienne. “Can you get her to roll over?”

Jason, or whoever had trained Cersei, had done a splendid job of it. He gave the hand gesture for the dog to roll to her back. Though she slanted him another glare that said she was doing it under sufferance, Cersei duly went to her back on the floor while shooting both of them an impatient side-eye.

Brienne crouched next to the golden and looked for more signs of what she suspected; they were all there. “Look, her teats are swollen, and darker pink, and her belly’s a bit round, too.” She looked up at where he was staring down at Cersei, wide-eyed. “Congratulations, Mr. Caster-Leigh. You’re going to be a grandfather.”

He smirked a bit. “Guess my chat with Pod about the shotgun and how he should bring her right home after prom didn’t take.”

“Guess not.” She smirked back as she stood back up. “Well, since we know exactly when it happened, in another month or so, we’ll have another four to twelve critters running around.”

“Four to  _ twelve _ ?” Jason was starting to look a little panicky, and for good reason: a dozen puppies, plus their parents, and a cat…

She couldn’t hold back a laugh, because his expression of alarm was so pronounced it was funny. It changed to faint hurt, though, and she shocked herself by pulling him into an apologetic hug.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you with them,” she assured him. “And you’ll have your hands full with Cersei and the puppies, so I’ll keep Bruce and Pod.”

“No,” he said immediately, his arms winding around her, wrapping her in their warmth and strength. “I said I’d take them—”

“—before you knew you were in for a puppy invasion,” Brienne interrupted. “I won’t hold you to it.”

“But—”

“Jason.” Gripping his biceps, she pushed back far enough to look him in the eye. Her tone was, she hoped, firm but gentle. “I know perfectly well you only offered in order to take another expense off my hands. But I’m not going to let you overwhelm yourself with upwards of fifteen animals only to fulfill a promise it wasn’t necessary to make in the first place. Once the farm critters are gone, the dogs and Bruce won’t hardly cost a thing.”

She poked him in the cheek. “Especially since I haven’t paid a stag for a meal in a month.”

He grabbed her hand before she could poke him a second time, fingers curling around hers and thumb stroking her palm. “If you’re sure…”

Brienne nodded. “I’m sure. Besides…” She paused, not sure how to approach what she wanted to say, though it had been on her mind for a while. “I know you must be earning a decent living with the prosthetics, but… with how much it’s costing you to feed me three times a day, plus everyone else at the clinic for lunch…” She gazed into his face, searching for a clue as to his reaction. “It must be literally eating into your profit.”

“Of course you’d worry about that.” His smile was… confusing. Fond, amused… proud? “You never disappoint, Brienne.”

What did that even mean? It sounded like something one would usually say sarcastically, but his tone wasn’t that, not at all. “Are you saying… what are you saying? That I’m predictable?”

And she meant the question;  _ please give me some guidance for how to react, here _ , she thought in bemusement.

“Only in the absolute best way,” said Jason, laughing. When she stood there, frowning, he drew her back into a brief hug, his cheek bristly and warm against hers.

“I don’t know what that means,” she complained when he released her.

He sighed, still smiling. “I should have told you before, I just… was embarrassed. But there’s nothing to eat into; the 3D printing thing is a nonprofit organization. When I was in rehab and occupational therapy with this—” he waved his right hand at her “—I saw how many people were getting shitty prostheses because they couldn’t afford anything better. And I’d broken from my family, by then, had nothing to do with my days, so I figured, why not? So now I spend my days trying to figure out how to make top-of-the-line prostheses more affordable so everyone can have one who needs one.”

“Then you especially can’t spare the money on me!” Brienne protested. “You—”

“—inherited a trust fund from my mother when I was twenty-five,” he said. “I made so much working for my family’s company that I never touched the fund, just kept reinvesting it. Now it’s worth more than I could spend in five lifetimes, even if I’m feeding you as well as myself. I could probably feed everyone in King’s Landing for a year and hardly notice the balance going down. I don’t bother taking a salary from the charity.

“So… can you relax, now? I promise you’re not eating me out of house and home. No one’s at risk of doing without anything, okay?”

She could only stare at him, speechless, and the longer she remained quiet, the more worried he looked.

“Why would you be embarrassed about that?” Brienne burst out, finally, when her teeming brain was able to settle on only one of the million things zipping through it. “It’s… it’s  _ wonderful _ . You should be proud of yourself.  _ I’m _ proud of you.”

To her horror, tears prickled in her eyes, a lump forming in her throat, her chest positively aching with love for him. She spun around to look out the window, to hide her face from him, barely stifling the impulse to bolt away and make sure he never saw, never suspected. But she knew he’d take it as a rejection, or at the very least be confused and hurt, wondering what he’d done to drive her away. She stood there like a block of wood, blinking until the tears receded without falling, swallowing until the lump dissolved.

He came close, and then his arms were around her from behind and he was holding her around the waist, trapping her arms under his in the most wonderful, snug way possible.

“Thank you,” he muttered into her shoulder, and she knew no one had said that to him about the charity, possible about anything ever, which was nearly unthinkable.

“And I’m proud of you for doing so well with having a prosthesis of your own,” she added, her voice hoarse. When his arms tightened, anger flashed through her, because she knew—  _ knew _ — that no one had told him that, either. She curled her own arms up under his so she could clasp his forearms and hold him against her. The sensation of him all along her back, so warm and strong, was the most satisfying sensation she’d ever had.

“I wish I had known you when it happened,” she whispered. The idea of him enduring such a terrible loss, so much pain and fear, was awful, but the knowledge that his family hadn’t helped him with it was agonizing to her.

“I wish you had, too,” he replied. “So much. But—”

“But what?” she prompted when he cut himself off.

“I wasn’t… me, then.” He sighed, his breath warm against her ear. “You’d have hated me, back then.”

She huffed out a laugh. Hate him? The idea was ridiculous.

“ _ I’d _ have hated  _ you _ ,” he continued, and that brought her up short.

“What? Why?” The comfort and safety of his embrace began to feel too enclosed. She tugged at his arms and pulled free, turning to face him, frowning deeply.

He swallowed. “Because of— because you—” He broke off, looking regretful and conflicted. “Because I thought that certain things mattered—”

“Things like looks,” she interjected, her voice hollow. Had she thought she’d ever be able to get away from the hard, cold fact that she was ugly? Had she thought she’d found someone who didn’t notice? Or somehow perceived her features as something other than homely?

“—but I know better, now,” he finished. “Because they  _ don’t _ matter, Brienne. I learned that the hard way.” He paused, sucking in a breath. “When this happened—” he gave his prosthesis a jerky wave “—my father was so disappointed in me. I wasn’t the perfect heir he’d always planned me to be, anymore. How could he trot me out to impress investors, with a stump? Or a fake hand?”

“They should be impressed that you overcame something so terrible, that you’re strong and brave,” Brienne said, her own upset fading as horror on his behalf dawned within her. “So should your father.”

“And my sister… my  _ twin _ … she hasn’t been able to look at me ever since it happened.” He smiled, a cruel flash of teeth aimed entirely at himself. “It’s such an  _ ugly _ injury. She can’t bear to see it. I’m no longer her perfect brother, and she’s furious with me because of it. She never came to the hospital. She can’t bear the sight of me. Even with the prosthesis, knowing there’s a stump there makes her sick.”

Brienne was aware she was gaping at him, but she couldn’t contain her shock. If Galladon had lost a hand, she’d have  _ lived _ in his hospital room with him, would have been with him every step of the way toward recovery and rehabilitation. She lacked any ability to understand how a person could reject their sibling when they’d undergone such a life-altering loss.

“I was every bit as bad as they are,” he continued, ruthless in his determination to lay all of himself before her, it would seem. “Sarcastic. Cruel. Mocking. Before, I’d have ripped you to shreds, that first day. You’d have despised me, and rightly so. I didn’t realize how much it hurt, how ashamed it felt to be treated that way, until it happened to me. And I realized that if it was that easy for them to turn on me like that, if I was so worthless to them without my hand, I didn’t matter to them.”

So much was fitting into place: Jason’s surprise when she was kind, and the thirsty way he soaked up all the affection she showed him. And his dedication to making prostheses both functional and lifelike… it was to please his family, so they could forget he had been maimed, since that was all that mattered to them. Not his courage, not his resilience, not his brightness or humor or depthless well of caring.

Something tickled her chin; she swiped at it and her hand came away wet.  _ Oh. I’m crying. _

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he murmured, bringing up his hand— his left— to wipe the tears away. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t,” Brienne muttered, knuckling her eyes dry. “ _ They _ did.”

“They?”

“Your horrible family.” She sniffled. “They’d better hope I never meet them in a dark alley.”

Her declaration of violent intent startled him into a laugh. “You’d wipe the floor with them, huh?”

“ _ Yes _ .” At that moment, she was capable of tearing his father and sister limb from limb.  _ Make  _ _ them _ _ lose a hand, have them see what it’s like. _ “Anyone who messes with my friends messes with me, too, and I’m capable of quite a bit.”

“I don’t doubt it.” His smile was gentle, and the way his eyes searched her face was tender, almost like a physical caress. “I think this definitely qualifies as one of those moments when I need a hug, don’t you?”

“I need one, too,” she admitted. And then she was in his arms, holding him tightly, her face turned into his neck.

_ I hate your family _ , and  _ I love you, love you, love you _ .

“You’re the only person I feel safe enough around to be myself,” he told her, very quietly. “Even my brother… I love him, more than anyone— almost— but he’s part of the family. He has the same sharp personality, the same sarcasm and meanness. He’d think this was all hilarious.”

“That  _ what _ was hilarious?”

“What we have. What we are, you and I. Our… friendship. He’d be amazed that I’m not bored by it, because we don’t do exciting things like I used to. The jet-setting, money-wasting crap that kept me so busy, before. He never realized that I didn’t actually  _ like _ any of that.  _ I _ never realized it, until I began doing other, simpler things with you and saw how much better it was.”

Brienne was beginning to feel muddled. “Jason, what— what are you even talking about?”

He laughed. “Walking the animals, having dinner… I’d rather do that instead of dancing at some trendy club until dawn, or flying beyond the Wall for skiing or to Dorne to lay on a beach, or attending the Kingswood Derby, or yacht racing to Pentos, or… any of the things I used to fill my life with, to disguise how empty it was.”

“Those all sound wonderful,” she said wistfully, even as she marveled to hear them. It was truly another world that he’d come from, sounding like a fairy tale instead of events that really existed. “I’d love to do any of them. Perhaps not the dancing until dawn,” she allowed, “but the rest…”

“We’ll go,” said Jason very promptly. “I’ll bring you to every single place.”

“I thought you said you didn’t like them.”

“Brienne, you’re not listening.” He gazed at her, eyes bright, smile sweet. “It’s not the activity, it’s the company. If I were doing any of that with you, it would be exactly as amazing as it is to walk three dogs and a cat and two goats and a pig.”

Her chin quivered and she pressed her lips tightly together to keep from doing something rash. She wasn’t sure what it would be— possibilities ranged from crying again, to hysterical laughter, to flinging herself at him bodily and covering his face with kisses.

_ I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to do this _ , she thought, feeling elated and miserable all at once. She swallowed repeatedly, until the lump in her throat softened enough to speak.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” she told him.

“You do that,” he said, grinning. “You do that.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh, I forgot to update this yesterday! I'm sorry :(

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~*~

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The next day was tense at the clinic. Robb had informed the volunteers of the shelter’s impending doom and the mood was subdued at best. Gilly was walking around sniffling as she filled up bowls of kibble, and Gendry kept his head down as he went about grooming whoever needed it.

Brienne kept working steadily, one patient after another, until the afternoon. Robb bought everyone lunch, to soften the blow as best he could, and they sat there in silence, eating morosely.

“Do you think it’s on purpose?” she asked suddenly, surprising Robb, Gendry, and Gilly, who were silently, somberly chewing their own food. In response to their querying glances, she elaborated, “Their purchase of this building, raising the rent to an amount we can’t possibly afford. Do you think the Lannisters are doing it to get back at you? At the Starks, I mean?”

“It seems right up their alley,” grumbled Gendry. As Arya’s boyfriend of several years, he had an up-close-and-personal experience, watching his girlfriend’s family skirt disaster at the hands of the Lannisters, and held no kind views of them.

“I don’t know,” said Gilly. “The Stark name isn’t on the clinic, is it possible they’re not aware of the connection…?”

Robb leaned dangerously far back in his chair and snagged the letter from where it lay on his incredibly messy desk, then handed it to Gilly, pointing at the addressee.

_Robb Stark_ , it said at the top of the page, not merely a more impersonal _Grey Wind Animal Clinic_.

“Ah,” Gilly finished, looking defeated.

“Yeah,” Robb grimly replied. “Nothing to do with Lannisters is ever coincidental.”

The bell over the main entrance tinkled, indicating that someone had entered the reception area.

“Hello?” called a resonant male voice. “Anyone here?”

“I’m just about done,” said Brienne, more wanting to escape the gloom permeating the room than because she was full. “I’ll go.”

The others, still chewing, nodded gratefully, and she made her way to reception, but it was empty.

“That’s weird,” she muttered, frowning as she peered around, but saw no one.

“It gets weirder,” said the voice, and a hand was thrust up to wave over the edge of the tall counter. “I’m down here.”

Brienne stepped around the corner of the counter and there before her was a dwarf. The surprise of it rendered her mute. As he stared up at her, it was clear he was just as stunned to see her as she was to see him.

“Well,” he said at last, “it’s nice, for once, not to be the only weirdo in the room.”

“We specialize in weirdos here,” she said. “It’s a weirdo-only zone.”

He grinned at her. It was strangely familiar, somehow. “I’ve found my tribe, then.” He sobered. “I’m Tyrion Lannister. I believe you had a letter from our company recently?”

She stared at him, blinking in surprise. “Yes. Let me get the director. Wait here a moment?”

He nodded, and she returned to the staff office. “Robb, Tyrion Lannister is here to see you.”

“You have got to be joking,” he declared, blue eyes widening. He put down the remains of his sandwich and stood. “Did he say what he wanted?”

“No.” She stopped him with a hand on his arm and lowered her voice. “He’s a little person. Just so you know.”

“Ah.” His brow creased in confusion. “Okay.”

When he was gone, Brienne began to finish the last bit of her salad, but instead of popping the forkful into her mouth, she heard the muffled rumble of male voices and paused. Her eyes met those of Gilly and Gendry, and within seconds all three had arranged themselves at the door, ears pressed to the inch-wide crack Gilly made in opening it. Collectively, they held their breaths so as to hear.

Tyrion was saying, “It appears that a mistake was made regarding the letter you received yesterday. Someone was, ah, a little too enthusiastic about their plans for this building, and got everything wrong.”

“Wrong?” echoed Robb.

“Your status as a non-profit organization was unknown to Lannister Enterprises until recently.” He paused. “Very, very recently. And when it was pointed out how bad it would look for us to evict a Stark endeavor, so soon after that last, er, incident–”

Robb gave a harsh laugh that rang discordantly off the reception area’s walls.

“–it was decided that it’s in our best interest to do what we can to avoid any more bad press,” Tyrion continued after an awkward moment. “So instead of doubling your rent, it has been halved. And as a gesture of apology and good faith, we’re going to absolve you of rent entirely for the next year.”

Silence fell. Gilly and Gendry heaved in shocked breaths and pressed their faces harder against the door, straining to catch a glimpse of what was sure to be a gobsmacked expression on their boss’ face. All Brienne could think, however– aside from her blinding relief– was _Jason was right. It all worked out._

“So. Wait. Let me get this straight,” Robb said slowly. “We don’t have to pay rent at all for the next year, and when we do pay it again, it will be half of what it was originally?”

“Yes, exactly.”

Robb did not reply right away, and Brienne could just imagine his face: eyes wide, mouth an O of shock.

But if he were, it soon ebbed as that shock faded and his natural wariness of Lannisterian motives returned. “What’s the catch?”

A beat of silence, and then Tyrion spoke, humor lacing his voice.

“You attend the Lannister Enterprises annual charity gala,” he said. “Make sure you’re seen, that people are aware that there’s a positive connection between our families now, that amends are being made and tensions dispelled.”

“That’s it?” Brienne could almost hear Robb’s eyebrows lifting to his hairline in skepticism.

“That’s it,” Tyrion replied, his tone mild. “But after that first year of rent is up… no promises about how much the cost will be. It was not easy to convince our father that this move was in the company’s best interests. I wouldn’t count on it becoming a permanent thing.”

_‘Our_ father’? Brienne wondered about the phrasing. Who else had joined Tyrion in persuading the Lannister patriarch to take this alternate route?

“Well,” Robb said at last, his confidence and poise fleeing now that the tension had dispelled, his natural dorkiness returning. “Well, okay. That’s… that’s good. That’s great. I’m… we’re… yes. This is… yes.”

_Oh, Robb,_ she thought with affection. He would never be a public speaker, that was for sure. He’d be out there, verbally bumbling around, for another hour if he weren’t rescued. Not that she was much better, but the two of them fumbling to speak might be able to communicate better than only one, so she slipped around Gendry and Gilly and joined the men in the waiting room.

“Thank you, Mr. Lannister,” she said to Tyrion. “We’re very grateful. Dr. Stark is in shock, I think—” she shot Robb a warm, teasing grin, which he returned with a rather dazed expression “—but once he floats back to earth, I know he’ll be every bit as pleased as the rest of us are.”

They exchanged a smile, Tyrion’s practiced, Brienne’s genuine. She was so pleased that she could hardly keep from bouncing on her toes in delight.

“Would you like to take a tour of the clinic, meet a few of the animals?” she offered.

“I actually would like to, but my son is allergic to dogs,” said Tyrion. “I can’t bring fur or slobber home with me.” He gazed up at her in speculation. “Are you another of the vets?”

“Yes, there are two of us, Robb and myself. I’m Brienne Tarth.”

She put out a hand to shake. It enveloped Tyrion’s entirely. When he withdrew his, it was to slip inside his jacket and remove an envelope.

“A letter of correction to yesterday’s… hiccup, for your records,” he said. “And a new lease detailing the new terms. Look it over, have it checked by an attorney, if you want. Sign and send it back as soon as you can.”

Brienne took it. “Thank you again.”

He nodded and left. Once the door swung shut behind him, she turned to Robb and tapped him on the shoulder with the envelope to get his attention.

“What just happened?” he asked, still looking dazed.

“Our bacon just got saved.” She handed him the envelope and began to head toward the operating room. “I’ve got a neutering to enjoy. Tell the others. Have a drink. Relax.”

Though she played it calm, inwardly she was so thrilled that she had to pause and collect herself before she started fixing the big ginger tom.

_I can’t wait to tell Jason_ , she thought the rest of the day _._

She wasted no time dawdling at the end of business hours, only tossed a hurried farewell at the others before dashing out the door and practically jogging all the way home. When she burst from the elevator, Jason and Cersei weren’t there waiting for her as usual. She was at least ten minutes early, though, and hadn’t he said he might be late returning from that meeting?

She stepped to his door and knocked on it, hoping he had indeed returned already, beaming with joy she wasn’t able to suppress. When he opened it and found her there, he began to smile, but it froze when he realized her excited state, his eyes growing wider and wider as she spoke.

“You won’t believe what happened!” she burst out. “It was exactly like you said, all a mistake, and not only is the rent _not_ doubling but it’s _half_ , and not even anything for a year, so— do you realize what it means? It means we can take in more animals! We can go to the kill shelters and rescue the ones who’d be put down, the disabled or sick ones! Maybe even open another branch on the other side of town!”

By the time she finished, he was beaming just as widely as she was, but his voice was casual as he said, “Bet that’s a load off your mind, huh?”

She nodded vigorously. “I’ve never been so happy and relieved in my _life_.” She wasn’t even exaggerating; not being accepted to the Citadel, not graduating as a fully-certified veterinarian, nothing had ever given her this level of elation.

He looked weirdly… proud, at that, but he kept smiling and said, “Think you can handle some more good news?”

“More?” Brienne’s eyes widened. She already felt like bursting into joyful song. “I… yes, tell me.”

“The manager of the farm that the goats and ducklings and Juanita will go to… he’s in town. He’s going to bring them to the farm when he goes back.”

Brienne gasped. “When? Soon?”

“Tomorrow. Early.”

That didn’t give her much time; it was already evening. She’d need crates for them, and supplies, and—

“So I went to the pet store,” Jason continued, stepping back— were they still standing in his doorway?— and to the side to reveal a small mountain of items: three spacious pet crates and sacks of wood shavings to line them.

When she turned back to him, incredulity plain on her face, he was smiling sheepishly.

“I knew you’d be back late, and tired, and—”

Brienne just walked right into him, arms circling his waist, and dropped her forehead to his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he embraced her in return.

“Yes,” she murmured, awash with love for him. The urge to express it to him was so strong she gnashed her bottom lip between her teeth to hold the words back. She gathered herself and withdrew from his hold. “Thank you.”

Jason gave her one of those searching looks of his, where his gaze traveled carefully over her face, studying it like he was trying to memorize the exact angle of each misshapen feature with an expression of wondrous contemplation. Yet again, Brienne wondered what he could possibly be looking for, and what conclusions he drew.

“You’re welcome,” he said eventually, his tone and smile easy. “Friends do anything for each other, right?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, swallowing past the lump in her throat. She’d do whatever it took to make him happy, to make him smile. Give him the world, or as much of it as she could manage. “Anything.”

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~*~

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The manager of the farm, an old childhood friend named Addam Marbrand according to Jason, had happened to come to the city and was happy to bring everyone back with him.

Well, perhaps ‘happy’ was a slight exaggeration.

“You didn’t tell me it was _live animals_ , Ja-Jason,” he said as he unfolded himself from the pickup truck, glaring even as he stumbled over his friend’s name. “You only said that you had something to carry back with me.”

“And so I do,” replied Jason cheerfully, arm sweeping to the side to indicate the three crates lined up on the curb outside the apartment building. The largest held the goats, the medium had the ducklings— now nearly full-grown ducks— and the smallest emitted a persistent series of affronted oinks.

Brienne had carefully set up their crates with nice comfortable bedding and generally fussed over the details of the transfer like an obsessed person. She was a terrible, neglectful pet-mother and her guilt had had her almost in tears since waking an hour earlier.

She wrung her hands as Juanita gave another indignant grunt.

“Here’s her cart,” she croaked past her tightened throat. She handed the cart to Addam, who watched her with the wary amazement of a hiker surprised on his forest path by a hungry bear.

Jason, true to his word, had taken Juanita’s measurements and used his 3D printer to create a customized cart for her. It fit without chafing her round pink tummy, and had wheels that didn’t stick and joints that didn’t jolt out of alignment when the tiny pig ran around in her usual exuberant way. He’d even designed it so that when Juanita pooped, none of it got on the cart itself, which made the rest of the adjustments negligible. Brienne had had her fill of washing poop off the old cart.

Addam took the cart, staring down at it for a moment before looking up and staring at Brienne, then at Jason. “Ja-Jason, what the fuck is going on?”

He looked— beyond confused, he looked _baffled_ , and Brienne wondered why. He managed a farm; surely it wasn’t that peculiar, dealing with a pair of goats, a pig, and half-a-dozen ducks?

Then she realized exactly why: Addam knew Jason had facilitated the entire thing to help Brienne, and was shocked that a man like Jason would have anything to do with a woman like her. Her cheeks and tips of her ears grew hot and she knew they’d turned bright red. It wasn’t exactly a surprise, that a man would be shocked at her ugliness, and she’d long since gotten used to how it would happen. In recent months, however, she’d only spent time around her friends and Jason, none of whom treated or looked at her as an ungainly specimen like Addam was doing at that moment.

“You know what, it’s fine,” she murmured, a slight edge to her voice. She shot him an unfriendly glance before her gaze fixed on the crates, where a wiggling pink snout was poking out of the wire grid of the smallest crate. “I’ll find somewhere else for them. Maybe somewhere on Tarth. There are farms there, too. I’m sure my father knows someone.”

She turned away and grasped the handles on Juanita’s and the ducklings’ crates, hoisting them up and turning to enter the building, her motions jerky with anger.

“No,” Jason said coldly. Surprised at the sound of it, Brienne turned to see his expression shift from its usual warm affection, when aimed at her, to something that looked like a mask of fury when he looked at the other man. “Addam’s going to take them. He’s _happy_ to do it, in fact. Isn’t that right, Addam?”

A tense silence ensued. Addam’s face shifted from incredulity to shocked comprehension. “Uh… yeah. I am.” His features loosened, and to her surprise, he smiled at her. Beamed, really. What insane conclusion had he drawn? “I _am_ happy to do it. Brienne, is it?”

He approached her with his hand out. _Talk about a quick about-face_.

“Um. Yes?” She set the crates back down on the sidewalk and gave his hand a shake, taking back her own as quickly as was politely possible. _Strange guy._ “Thank you. I’ve been worried about finding homes for them, so I really appreciate this.” The force of her relief had her smiling tentatively at him. “They’re pets, you know, so… they won’t be put into meat production, will they? And they’ll still get some affection, right?”

Worried, she looked to Jason, beside her. “You know it’ll break their hearts if they’re suddenly dumped into a herd and—”

“They’re going to be part of the farm’s petting zoo,” he assured her. He was back to his normal self, smiling easily at her. “Nothing to worry about.”

Relief was a cool wave flowing over her. She sighed and smiled back, taking his hand to give it a squeeze of gratitude. “I’m glad. Thank you for setting this up. It means so much to me.”

He squeezed back, his eyes a soft grassy green.

“So,” Addam said with a little cough, “how long have you two been dating?”

Brienne sucked in a shocked breath and snatched her hand back, waiting for Jason’s amused denial. But he didn’t say a word, only crouched down to murmur into the goats’ crate, and the silence got weird. Brienne found herself babbling.

“Oh, we’re— it’s not like that— we’re not _together_. We’re—” She felt awkward and embarrassed to have given off the wrong impression, even as she wished she could give a different answer. _Four months_ , she wanted to say. _It was practically love at first sight, for me at least._ She steadfastly ignored the twinge of thwarted longing in the pit of her stomach.

“Just friends, huh?” Addam said, but there was something knowing and amusing to his tone, and it irked her.

“No such thing as _just_ friends,” Brienne said as she fixed him with some intense eye contact so he knew how seriously she took the matter. It was somewhat of a pet peeve of hers. “Friends are important. I love mine very much. There’s no _just_ about them.”

He gazed back, at first bemused, but as the seconds ticked by, he began to look a little dazed, the same way Jason did sometimes.

“Oh,” he said finally. “I get it now.”

“Get what?” asked Brienne, lost, but when she looked at Jason for clarification, he only seemed a weird combination of smug and triumphant and proud.

“You’re very sweet, and have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen,” Addam told her, his tone serious. “If you and Ja-Jason _aren’t_ dating… maybe the next time I’m in town, you and I can go out for dinner?”

She gaped at him. Was he serious or just mocking her? He seemed genuine enough, and with his auburn hair and piercing amber eyes, was striking and handsome in a rugged way. A sideways glance at Jason, for some clue as to Addam’s true intentions, showed he was back to coldly furious, looking about to shoot laser beams of death from his eyeballs. If Jason were angry at Addam, he must be making fun of her instead of truly wanting to take her out. She hadn’t even _wanted_ to go, but still, she felt a little pang at being a joke to a man yet again.

“Thank you, but I’m very busy,” she replied shortly, and it was even the truth, or at least only a small lie: with half the animals gone, she’d be far less occupied, but between her job, the pets who remained, and spending evenings with Jason, her schedule was packed. She hadn’t been able to find the time to see Sandor and Sansa in weeks, and the less said about how long it had been since she’d been home to Tarth, the better…

“She’s _very busy,_ ” Jason repeated with meaning. “And so are you. Begone.”

“ _Begone?_  Nice ‘lord of the manor’ act,” Addam pretended to gripe, but his grin was wide as he hefted the goats’ crate and carried it to the rear of the pickup bed while a pair of alarmed bleats rang out.

“I _am_ a lord of the manor,” it sounded like Jason muttered in response. He took the ducklings’ crate, eliciting a spate of wild quacking, and brought it to where Addam was placing the goats’ crate onto the truck bed.

Brienne followed up with Juanita’s, lifting it to face level so she could make eye contact with the pig one last time.

“Be a good girl,” she told Juanita. “Don’t trip Peachy, and don’t chase the cats up trees, and don’t steal anyone else’s food.”

“Oink,” said Juanita. It was as good an agreement as Brienne was going to get from her.

She handed the crate to Addam, who placed it facing the goats’ so they could see each other during the trip. Then he packed other things around the crates so they wouldn’t shift during the drive. Brienne handed him the box of food she’d put together for everyone and he stowed it, as well, before slamming the bed gate closed.

“Thank you,” she told him, her tone still cool. “It’s a big relief to me, knowing they’ll be well-taken-care-of with you.”

“My pleasure,” he replied, then said, “Hey, you should give me your phone number. That way, I can send you updates and photos of them every once in a while.”

“Oh!” That sounded like a great idea; she’d feel far better if she could see how they were doing. She dug in her back pocket for her cell. “Yes, that sounds—”

“You don’t need her number,” Jason all but snarled while Addam laughed at him and climbed into the truck’s cab. “You can send them to me.”

Addam was still laughing as he fired up the ignition, put the pickup into gear, and drove away.

Brienne turned to Jason with wide eyes. “I thought you said you and Addam were friends.”

The irritation faded from his face and he gave her a rueful grin. “We are. That’s how friendship looks on us, I guess.”

“Ah,” she said sagely. “It’s one of those man things, where you treat each other like shit as a way to show affection.”

He squinted, skeptical. “I wouldn’t call it affection, per se…”

They watched as the truck grew smaller and smaller as it drove down the street. When it finally turned the corner and was out of sight, a terrible sense of loss and guilt settled on Brienne. She swallowed hard, trying to hold back the tears that sprang forth.

“I’m going to miss their beady little eyes,” Jason murmured.

“And Rosy’s headbutts,” Brienne said.

“How the ducklings chewed all my shoelaces,” he added. “I won’t need to buy new ones every week, now.”

“The way Peachy runs to us every time she gives herself a bump or falls over.”

“Juanita’s happy oinks when she eats.”

Brienne tried to hide a discreet sniffle but of course he heard her, and then his hand was between her shoulder blades, directing her into an embrace. As always, she felt peculiar about simply giving in to it, as if she ought to offer some token resistance at the very least, but… there was nothing wrong with accepting and providing solace when you were sad, was there? They were _friends_.

She put her arms around him and held on tight, even going so far as to bury her face against his neck as she permitted herself a minute to cry, trying to be quiet and unobtrusive about it instead of sobbing into his poor ear. He held her tenderly, whispering comforting nonsense as his palms smoothed up and down her back.

“Edgar’s going to be heartbroken when he realizes the ducklings are gone forever,” she said eventually. “It’s going to be so empty in my place, with half of everyone gone.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Jason replied, sounding cautious. “Cersei and I can spend time with you there. To make it seem more full. If you like. Or… my place. You could stay after dinner, I mean. We could watch TV or movies, or play cards, or just talk.”

He seemed uncharacteristically nervous and Brienne felt her heart turn over, as it so often did in his presence. Was he still so unsure of his reception with her? He had to realize by that point that she’d welcome his company no matter what.

And… she wouldn’t have to say good night to Jason until the very end of the evening? It meant that practically every moment outside of work would be spent with him, and the notion caused her equal amounts of gladness and pain. She had an awful feeling that she’d slip up, at some point, and blurt out her feelings or— gods forbid— kiss him. And then it would all be out there, revealed and naked. It would alter their relationship forever, and probably not for the better.

She was terrified that it would ruin things between them. As horribly wonderful as it was to be with him, it would be horribly _horrible_ to drive him away because he knew she loved him and it made him uncomfortable.

She should refuse.

But she was not _that_ strong.

“That sounds nice,” she replied. “Okay.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like this chapter, thanks as always to my excellent betas! <3

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~*~

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Spending the evening together after dinner ended up being very enjoyable and easy. Brienne was sometimes a bit disconcerted that there had been a time when they, plus all the animals, hadn’t always gone to Jason’s apartment after their evening walk, to eat dinner and then curl up on the sofa to watch bad movies or worse television.

As she’d suspected, Jason spent the time mocking whatever they watched and slyly glancing her way, to see if she were amused. Even if his jokes weren’t funny, his eagerness to make her laugh _was_ , so she ended up laughing one way or another. And he looked so proud of himself, so pleased to see her smile, that she knew she’d have forced herself to laugh even if it hadn’t been funny. She wanted to see him smile, too.

Addam reported that the goats, ducklings, and Juanita were doing beautifully in the farm’s petting zoo. The goats were kept with the zoo’s other goats and the ducklings had joined the other waterfowl at the zoo’s pond. Photos he sent — to Jason’s phone, _not_ Brienne’s — showed them frolicking with others of their kind.

Juanita, due to her miniature size, the cart, and her vulnerability if she managed to wriggle out of it — which was often — was kept separately from the other pigs and enjoyed her own spacious pen and play area. She had already become something of a star attraction with the children due to her gregarious personality and easygoing nature, enjoying being held and petted even if the children were a bit clumsy.

Brienne’s apartment seemed echoey and empty without them… or at least that was the reason she was using to justify spending so much time at Jason’s. She’d remain there well into the evening, to the point where more often than not, she ended up falling fast asleep. In her defense, his sofa was irresponsibly comfortable, and with Jason beside her on one side, Pod on the other, Bruce in her lap, and Edgar on her feet, she felt so warm and safe that it was impossible to remain awake.

She’d been embarrassed the first few times, as she had when she’d fallen asleep in his car, but he clearly didn’t mind. In fact, he gave every evidence of being pleased about it, appearing unbothered when she listed to the side and ended up leaning against him and, most likely, snoring into his poor ear.

He just pulled a throw blanket over her and let her honk away, waking her at midnight so she could stumble sleepily back to her own place. Due to the impending happy event of Cersei’s puppies, they decided that Jason would only take Pod, and Bruce would remain with Brienne. The new arrangement of her staying for the evening after dinner ended up being perfect to gradually transfer the gentle pitbull to his new home. After a week, when it was time for Brienne to leave, Pod scarcely looked up from where he was snuggled with Cersei in her spacious bed in the corner.

The days passed in a blissful haze. The clinic was doing well and they had, indeed, begun acquiring animals from the ‘death rows’ of King’s Landing’s kill shelters. Despite having to wake up, trudge down the hall, and enter her apartment halfway through the night, Brienne was better-rested and more energetic and all-round healthier than ever before. The summer heat held, lingering well beyond the usual season into a beautiful Ibbenese summer. Brienne fell more and more deeply in love with Jason, until she couldn’t imagine her life without him, could barely recall a time before she’d known him.

It was frequently difficult for her, withstanding her impulses to kiss him or hold him in a way that went beyond their friendly hugs, or tell him how much he meant to her. As time passed, the words edged ever closer to spilling from her lips, to the point where she had to clench her jaw to keep from blabbing. She knew he would be kind in rejecting her and would not end their friendship. She was loath, however, to create awkwardness between them where there was only fluid synergy and near-effortless compatibility.

Though sometimes she caught him watching her with an odd expression, his eyes for once not soft and gentle as he gazed at her, but molten with a heat that struck sparks in her blood and sent a thrill of hunger up her spine. She wondered what he was thinking of, _who_ he was thinking of, in those idle moments when he’d happen to stare idly in her direction, and envied that woman with the force of a nuclear detonation.

After Jason learned her birthday was upcoming the upcoming weekend, upon her arrival home from work on Friday afternoon he announced they were going “away somewhere” and that she should pack for “a few days”.

“But I have to work on Monday!” she protested as they returned from walking everyone to the park and back.

“We’ll be back in plenty of time,” Jason said airily.

Brienne sighed in defeat. “Will I need evening wear? My passport?” She grimaced. “Please tell me I won’t need to wear heels.”

“You can wear whatever you like,” he said, giving a gentle push toward her apartment. “No passport needed. Now go and pack. I’ll meet you out here in fifteen minutes.”

But Jackson Polly’s indignant squawks of hunger had her marching back out into the hallway to where Jason had just entered his place.

“What about the animals?” she demanded. “We can’t–”

He gave her a patient, amused look. “Of course we’re not leaving them here by themselves all weekend. I’ve arranged for a pet sitter. Give me your key.”

Nonplussed, she stared at him. “My key.”

He grinned and plucked the bunch of keys from her hand. “So the sitter can get into your place while we’re gone. You don’t have to worry. She’s very highly recommended, she’s bonded and insured and has a reputation to protect.” When she still peered doubtfully at him, he did a very credible impression of a pouting five-year-old. “Good to see you trust me so much.”

“I trust you fine,” Brienne grumbled with a halfhearted swipe at her keys, but he held them up and away, out of her immediate reach. “It’s other people I don’t trust.”

“Well, trust me to know how to vet people so we only hire someone we can rely upon.” He stuffed her keys in his back pocket and, taking her by the shoulders, turned her around to propel her toward her home once more. “Now go.”

And he shocked her with a light swat to the butt. She stared over her shoulder in astonishment as he laughed and turned away to go get his own things, then went into her apartment feeling a little dazed. She’d never seen him so lighthearted, in such a buoyant and happy mood, laughing so easily. The desire to see him like that all the time, every day, flooded her.

 _Well_ , she thought, _if doing whatever-this-is makes him_ _this_ _happy, I’ll do it._

She pulled clothes out to pack a small bag with clothing for the next two nights and days, lollygagging and indecisive over what to bring. He’d said anything she wanted was fine, but… what if it were somewhere fancy? She didn’t want to embarrass herself— or worse, him— by looking sloppy in too-casual things, but nor did she want to be overdressed and make a fool of herself by erring too far in the other direction.

A faint noise behind her alerted her to his presence, and she turned from her vexed ruminations to find him standing in her bedroom doorway. Shoulder against the jamb and arms crossed, a crooked and affectionate smile curled his lips.

Brienne threw up her hands. “I don’t know!” she exclaimed, making him grin wider. “I don’t know what to bring!”

He straightened from his slouch and ambled closer, peering down at the stacks of clothing she’d put on the bed to decide from.

“Hm,” he said, pretending to be thoughtful and serious about the dilemma. “These—” he took two pairs of jeans from the ‘pants’ pile “—and these—” he chose two t-shirts, both in shades of blue “—and one of these, just in case it’s warmer than we think—” a pair of khaki shorts went on top of the stack he was creating “—and one of these—” a cardigan, also in blue, was selected “—some socks—” three pairs were plucked from the heap, all blue “—and…”

His hand stretched toward the neatly folded panties and bras, but Brienne smacked it away.

“I can choose those for myself,” she muttered, busying herself with cramming the things he’d chosen into the weekend bag, cheeks flaming.

“Or you could make it easy on yourself and not wear any at all,” he told her, his eyes bright with an unholy glee to be teasing her. “Think how much space you’ll save in there.” And he poked the side of the already-bulging bag.

“Don’t you worry about saving me space,” she shot back, her face feeling hot enough to fry an egg on. “I can do it myself.”

Suddenly, she was supremely aware that Jason was in her bedroom with her, where he’d never before been, where she’d imagined him so many times. He was looking around with interest, taking in all the little details, and the room felt oddly contradictory. It was at the same time both comfortingly familiar and well-worn, but also shabby and tragically chaste, like he could tell at a glance how sadly lacking her sex life was.

“Go out there and apologize to everyone for abandoning them to a stranger for the weekend,” she instructed, and he flashed her another smile before walking obediently away.

Brienne looked down at the things Jason had chosen. _Why all blue?_ she wondered, shaking her head, and exchanged them for t-shirts in green and yellow, a camel-brown cardigan, and socks of plain old white. But what if Jason suffered from a typical male disconnect of what a woman needed to wear to a particular place? On impulse, she tossed in a microfiber wrap dress that somehow looked better when after being crushed into a wad, as well as a pair of flats.

Then she decided to change what she had on, feeling a bit grubby after working all day. She hurried to the bathroom for a quick whore’s bath before yanking on fresh clothes. Snatching up the bulging bag, Brienne followed Jason’s voice to the living room. She found him seated on the sofa with all the animals around him, except for the lizards.

He was talking to them quietly, lovingly, and they were still and calm, enraptured by the soft tones of his deep voice. They stared up at him in adoration as he told them he was taking their mother on a trip for her birthday because he was very glad she’d been born and that all of their lives were better because she was present in them.

Brienne’s throat closed up like a fist and tears sprang, unwelcome, to her eyes. _I love you, love you, love you_ , she thought in despair. She should refuse to go on this mystery adventure with him; if he were going to be like this all weekend, she’d never survive. Spending time with him had passed ‘bittersweet’ some weeks ago and entered ‘exquisitely painful’; at that moment, it downshifted to ‘outright agonizing’.

But no. He would be hurt by her sudden turnaround, after the work he’d gone to to arrange it all, and how clearly excited he was. However apprehensive she might be about how difficult the weekend would end up, Brienne couldn’t do that to him. She’d… she’d manage, somehow.

He looked up at her, then, where she was standing there gawping at him like a fool. She hurried to turn away so he didn’t see her eyes turning red and her stupid chin wobbling.

“Forgot something to sleep in,” she called over her shoulder. She returned to the bathroom to splash her face with cold water in hopes of disguising her idiotic emotional outburst. Blindly, she stuffed another of Sandor’s stolen t-shirts into the tiny space left in her bag.

When she entered the living room again, now composed, she found he’d returned Jackson Polly to his cage, all the food and water bowls had been topped off, and the piddle pads had been placed in their strategic spots. Cersei and Pod would be staying at Brienne’s so that all the critters were together for the pet sitter to care for at once. Brienne noticed that Cersei’s plush bed had found a home in the corner and that the golden and her pitbull paramour were curled up in it together already.

“Ready?” Jason asked, his face so glad and hopeful that the last of her wishes to avoid his plans melted away. She’d go with him, and find a way to enjoy herself— or at least to convincingly pretend she was enjoying herself— if it killed her. For him.

“Ready!” she answered, managing a smile convincing enough to keep him from wondering what was wrong.

He snagged his own bag, a hideously expensive satchel in leather the same shade as the darker caramel streaks in his hair, and led the way out the door. Brienne lavished final kisses and farewells upon each animal. The remaining creatures were less rowdy than the ones who had departed for the farm and she had little worry about any trouble they might get up to in her absence.

Once in his car, Jason turned to Brienne and, unbelievably, handed her…

“A blindfold? Are you serious?” It was one of those sleep masks that posh women wore to sleep until noon. She stared down at it, then up at him, her mouth open in amazement. “I’ll look like the victim of a kidnapping.”

He squinted at her as if contemplating his options. “Do you promise to close your eyes and not open them until I say so?” he said at last.

“Yes,” she agreed, because there was no way she was driving through King’s Landing with a posh lady blindfold on. He squinted harder, clearly skeptical, until she huffed. “Have you known me to break my word yet?”

That made him smile. “No,” he admitted. “Okay.”

He took the mask and chucked it over his shoulder to the back seat with aplomb, making Brienne roll her eyes and laugh, as he’d clearly intended.

“Onward!” he said, pointing toward the windshield as if directing a feisty mount to proceed.

 _By the gods, what a dork_ , thought Brienne. She wished with every cell in her body that she had the right to kiss him, to embrace him in a distinctly non-platonic way, to hold him close and tell him how much she loved him.

“Onward!” she repeated weakly, giving a feeble point of her own.

They’d barely reached the bottom of Visenya’s Hill when he told her it was time to close her eyes. She obeyed, but kept her other senses quivering alertly in an attempt to track where they were headed based on how things sounded, which way they turned, whether or not they traveled over the ancient, never-to-be-repaired potholes every Kings Landing resident had memorized by the end of their first year in the city.

But Jason kept the windows rolled up so she couldn’t hear as well as she might have with them down. She was too disoriented without being able to see to figure out how long they’d been on a street before turning. Soon, Brienne was hopelessly lost and feeling weirdly vulnerable, though she trusted Jason implicitly. His regular questioning of whether her eyes were closed was becoming a little irritating, however.

It was only when the car began a rapid juddering that she realized they had passed into the part of town paved with cobblestones, the ancient neighborhood by the Keep. The castle was a hotel, now; were they spending the weekend there? It was known to be luxurious to the point of excess, and she was in for some serious spoiling if that were his intent. The idea made her feel odd; she would never be used to how easily he spent money, especially when he spent it on _her_.

But they passed out of the cobblestone area, making more frequent turns, which she thought indicated the tighter, narrower streets of Fishmarket, outside the city walls. After a few more minutes, even the rolled-up windows and superlative sound dampening of the costly vehicle’s interior couldn’t muffle the shrill cries of gulls.

“The waterfront?” she hazarded.

“Are you sure your eyes are closed?”

“For the millionth time, Jason, yes! They’re closed!”

He let out a huff of laughter and his warm hand pressed on her forearm for a moment. “I know. I know.”

Soon, he pulled the car to a stop.

“Keep them closed!”

Brienne grumbled but complied, letting him help her out after he’d gallantly insisted upon opening her door. Shouldering both bags, he drew her arm through his and led her off. The sound of the gulls grew stronger, as did the familiar low-tide aroma of the Rush, and soon the lapping of waves became apparent.

When her feet detected the wood of a boardwalk, instead of pavement, she said, “The docks?”

He sighed in mock frustration. “You might as well open them, then.”

She did, and found herself in front of a… well, the only word she could think that applied to it was _yacht._  Frozen, Brienne gaped up at it, slowly turning her head to stare at Jason.

“We are not _seriously_ going to—”

“Yep!” he said cheerfully, tugging her along and gesturing to the gangplank. “Up you go!”

She balked, but he crowded up behind her, pushing his knees into the back of her legs so she had to choose between proceeding and falling over. She went, but griped about it the whole time. Jason was completely undisturbed, laughing at her complaints.

Once on the yacht— the _yacht,_ by the gods— they were met by a half-dozen crew members, all fit and tan and attractive. Even in their casual uniforms of white trousers and red polo shirts, they looked fancier-dressed than Brienne. She breathed through a wave of self-consciousness as Jason greeted them.

“Everything ready to go?” he asked as he handed their bags off to a young man.

“Yes, ser,” replied the fellow who seemed the most captainly, an older man with a gray beard and kindly eyes.

“Dinner is ready, ser, whenever you want it,” said a young woman with improbably perfect teeth. _Pia_ was stitched in gold above her breast pocket.

Jason quirked a brow at Brienne; was she hungry? She nodded; she was always hungry.

“In ten minutes, Pia,” he told the girl, and she hurried away, the other crew taking off for their posts as well.

Jason led her off the deck and inside the yacht, through a lavishly appointed lounge area with a mirror-backed bar to a hallway of glossy-polished burled walnut paneling, lined with brass-edged doors. As they passed by, he pushed open the doors and gestured within the rooms thus revealed.

“Pick whichever you like,” he said. When they reached the last one, however, he flashed her a mischievous smile. “You can stay here, if you like, but this one’s mine, so we’ll have to share.”

But Brienne was in no mood for his go-nowhere flirting. She pushed him into the room and closed the door behind her.

“Jason,” she said sternly, “you are going to tell me right now what is happening.”

He blinked at her in surprise. “Well,” he drawled, extra-slowly to poke fun at her, “we’re on a yacht.”

How was it possible to be in love with someone and yet want to kill them, at the same time? Her face must have betrayed her violent impulses, because he barked out a laugh and continued, “We’re going to Dragonstone. We’ll get there in the morning, and can spend the day there before coming back.”

Jason paused, seeming for the first time to realize she might be less-than-thrilled with his itinerary.

“Is that… bad?” he ventured, looking unsure and worried, two little lines forming between his eyebrows.

A purring vibration announced that they were underway, and with a gentle lurch, they pulled away from the dock. Brienne went to the bed and slumped on the edge, feeling tired.

“It’s not bad,” she told him. “It’s just… so much. So much money. So much attention. So much _yacht_.” She gazed up at him, every bit as amazed as when she’d first seen the vessel. “It’s a _yacht_ , Jason!”

He sat down beside her. “Yes, I’m aware.” When she elbowed him in the side, he laughed. “What is it that’s bothering you so much? Do you hate sailing? Do you hate Dragonstone? Do you hate me?”

She compressed her lips, irritated, but he smirked, perfectly aware of the answer to that last question.

“You know I don’t hate you, you idiot,” she grumbled. “And you also know I don’t hate sailing.” She’d told him long before how she’d practically grown up on her father’s battered old sloop, and how she could pilot it even better than a car.

“Ah, so it’s Dragonstone you don’t like,” he said wisely, leaning back on his hands. Brienne noticed that the bed’s coverlet was a rich scarlet, and that he looked impossibly beautiful against it, all golden hair and green eyes and white teeth. The urge to tackle him had her clenching her hands in her lap.

“I don’t like that you’re spending so much money on me,” she forced out through gritted teeth. “A _yacht_ , Jason! It must have cost a fortune to charter! And I bet we’re not even sharing it with other passengers, so the whole thing is only for us! It’s too much! Too much for just me!”

Jason sat up, at that, and bent one leg to turn sideways on the bed and face her.

“Nothing is too much for you,” he said, looking earnest and confused. “It’s not— not costing as much as you think it is. Hardly anything, really. And it’s worth it. _You’re_ worth it.” He frowned. “I only wanted to— to make you happy. You said you wanted to go all those places I told you about. There’s not enough time to go to Braavos this time, though maybe in a little while you can take a week off work. I know you must have vacation saved up…”

His voice trailed off when he saw her expression not easing in the slightest, and he sagged a little, all the energy seeming to leave him.

“I just— don’t know what to do for you,” he said, sounding fond and exasperated and puzzled all at once. “I never met a woman who didn’t want to be spoiled. I knew you wouldn’t want a present, so I didn’t buy you anything, but I thought— something like this, not anything material, an experience rather than a possession—”

He blinked helplessly at her. “Is it really that bad? I don’t know any other way. If I did it wrong, just… just tell me. I’ll get the captain to turn us around and bring us back. We haven’t even hit the bay yet.”

Brienne felt like she’d kicked a whole litter of puppies.

“It’s not bad,” she croaked. “I’m… I’m sorry. I’ve screwed this all up. I just feel so strange.” She shrugged, feeling as helpless as he looked. “No one has ever gone to this much trouble and expense for me, and I’m not used to it, and it’s _weird_. Like I’m taking someone else’s place, or putting on an act, or…” She shrugged again, staring down at her knees.

“Well, you’re not,” said Jason, very softly, and his hand came to cover her balled-up fist. “You’re taking up your own place, because I did this for you, not for anyone else. I’m sorry I didn’t realize you’d be uncomfortable with this much… everything.” His lips curved in self-deprecation. “My sister would have been screaming at how short a trip it was, and only to Dragonstone, _no one_ goes to Dragonstone this time of year, am I so stupid I don’t realize that, and—”

With a muffled sob, Brienne turned and put her arms around him, burying her face against his neck. His arms came around her, banding tightly as he relaxed against her.

“You’re not stupid,” she mumbled into his collar, blinking until the stupid tears went away. He smelled delicious, spicy and woody and peppery and she wanted very much to lick him. “I’m sorry I reacted so badly. Please don’t think I don’t appreciate it, I do, so much. It’s wonderful, this ridiculous yacht, and I’m very excited to be on it, and to see Dragonstone.”

“Yeah, you seem excited,” he said dryly, his voice a deep rumble in her ear, and she couldn’t suppress a shiver.

“I _am_ excited,” Brienne insisted as she pulled away, blushing furiously as she wrapped her hoodie more tightly around herself, pretending the shiver was because she was chilly. “Now that I’m over being freaked out by the fact that I’m on a _yacht_ , I’m— I’m very excited.”

Her stomach growled. “And hungry,” she added. “Excited and hungry.”

He studied her for a moment, gaze gentle and relieved. “Good,” he said at last, “because dinner should be ready—”

A knock sounded at the door.

“—right about now,” he finished, smiling as he stood and held out a hand to her.

She didn’t need help rising, but she took it anyway. If she was going to have a fairy tale forced on her, she might as well enjoy having a prince, as well.

Brienne stifled the impulse to bring his hand to her face, have it cup her cheek, to press a kiss to the warm palm, and only gave it a squeeze.

“Let’s go eat,” she said, and smiled with every bit of love she had for him.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to update yesterday, sorry about that. 
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful betas, as always :) Hope you like this chapter!

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~*~

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Brienne knew she was supposed to be watching the sky, the way it was lit in streaks of lavender and peach as the crimson ball of the sun sank below the sea’s horizon, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of Jason. He seemed like a being of living gold, with how the waning light gilded his skin, his beauty almost painful.

Time with Jason was always wonderful, but the evening had been pure magic. She’d have been happy to paddle around in a dinghy eating sandwiches with him, but to charter a yacht? With a five-star chef? She already knew Jason was prone to grand gestures, but it was too much to be believed, weirdly— almost bizarrely— overdone. Friends just did not go to this extent for each other, even extravagantly wealthy friends.

Brienne knew she had self-esteem issues. She was aware they made her unable to believe men could be interested in her, in a romantic and sexual sense. But she also knew that at least two men had not been too troubled by her size and appearance to date her (though she had her suspicions about the motivations for Hyle’s affections).

It would seem, on its face, that a man like Jason could not remotely care for her beyond the sentiments of friendship, except that his behavior and actions that very evening were not those of a mere friend, no matter how devoted or close. If she looked like Sansa, if she even had Arya’s more modest attractiveness, she’d have no trouble believing his efforts were borne of a wish to please someone in whom he had romantic interest. Would have insisted that were the case, in fact, if Sansa or Arya told her that a man had done those things for them.

Was it actually in the realm of possibility that Jason wanted her? Cared for her as more than a friend? Her heart leaped in her chest, as if it would cartwheel out between them at any moment, her repressed yearning struggling to break free. Did she dare try to see?

 _You miss one hundred percent of the shots you never try to make,_ she reminded herself, a mantra drilled into her head during high school and college varsity basketball by her coaches. What did she have to lose?

Terror burgeoned; she beat it back. Even if she were wrong, even if Jason were just a madman who lavished ridiculously too-opulent gifts upon his friends, she knew he cared enough for her to not be cruel when refusing her. Things would be weird for a while. She’d probably be horrendously mortified and cry a bit once she was alone and it was safe to fall apart. But eventually, they’d get past it and be back to their usual rapport. She risked momentary discomfort, but stood to gain everything.

She wiped her palms, slick with nervous sweat, down her thighs before turning to him. “Jason,” she croaked.

He faced her, fingers combing an errant hank of wind-tossed hair out of his eyes, his smile bright at first, but it faded after just a moment.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, brows coming together in concern. “You look… scared?”

Did she? Probably; she certainly _felt_ scared, though there was no reason for it. Not as if Jason would hurt her. She’d just be embarrassed. She’d been embarrassed before and lived through it. She could do it again.

“I love you,” she blurted.

His eyes widened in surprise, lips parting. Brienne waited, half in dread and half in anticipation, for his reaction. She expected a fond smile, at worst that half-grin of his that was amused without being mocking, and then he’d say kind, sweet words about how he valued her but didn’t feel the same.

Instead, he swallowed convulsively several times, looking down and blinking rapidly.

“I know,” he replied after a few awkward moments. “We’re friends. You love all your friends.” He looked back up, at last, and gave her a smile that was patently forced. “I love you, too.”

“No—” Brienne’s throat closed up in reaction to how tense he’d gone, even as her heart beat a spastic tattoo to hear the words from him. “That’s not it,” she continued, a trifle desperately. “I’m _in love with_ you. In the romantic sense. N-not just as friends.”

Jason stared at her, his face rigid. He was upset, but why? Was it that distressing for her to reveal it to him? Regret was a stone weighing down her stomach. She _knew_ she should have kept it to herself. How had she managed to misjudge so badly how he would take it—   

“I thought there was no such thing as ‘just’ friends,” he said hoarsely. He looked almost feverish, his eyes bright and cheeks flushing with hectic color.

“That’s what I always thought,” she replied haltingly, alarmed at his reaction, which was nothing like how she might have imagined. “But I didn’t know— I didn’t realize— that there could be such a difference— how I feel for my friends— how I love them— and how much more, for you—”

Her words stumbled to a stop, because Jason didn’t look as if he was even breathing, only stared and stared and _stared_ at her.

Then he reached out and snatched her against him, holding her like he was afraid she’d disappear at any moment. It was only when her arms came around his waist that he sucked in a gasp of air, his lungs shuddering powerfully.

“Say it again,” he said against her throat.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“Jason. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He was holding her so tightly she thought he might be grinding her ribs together but that didn’t seem to matter much. Hope flared desperately within her heart. Surely he wouldn’t react that way if he didn’t care for her in the same way?

“You seem—” she ventured after a minute went by in silence. “Happy? I think? Because you might, uh, maybe… for me as well?” Gods, she was shit at this.

Jason reared back from their embrace so he could look at her, but instead of replying, he brought his shaking hands to her face and held her for his kiss.

Brienne had imagined kissing Jason many times. Many, many, many times, in many different ways. But not one of them had measured up to the reality of it. She’d thought it would be something slow, sweet, perhaps even tentative as they learned each other, but this was— a hurricane when one expected a light rain shower, a tornado in comparison to a faint breeze, an erupting volcano beside a single lit match.

He kissed her like he was starving, as if he’d been waiting to do it for ages, like he’d been holding back almost beyond his endurance. He kissed her as if it would save their lives, like the fate of the world relied upon it, utterly dominating her with his mouth as she’d only ever read about in trashy novels until her legs gave out and she began sinking to the floor.

He sank with her, seeming perfectly happy to just flop around on the deck like landed salmon. But Brienne was almost completely certain she didn’t want her first time having sex with Jason to be in full view of the hired crew of a chartered yacht, who she could plainly see were staring out the windows at the spectacle she and Jason were making of themselves.

 _Almost_ completely certain, but not entirely, because it was so good— the kissing, the heat and feel of him pressed so close, and most of all the sensation of something very hard and very large pressing right between her legs— that there was a worrying proportion of her wanting to throw caution out the window and just let him fuck her right there, on the deck, before the crew and the gods and anyone else who might be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of Jason nude.

“Jason,” she therefore said against his lips, hands on his shoulders, trying to push him away but failing miserably, only ending up tugging him closer. When she managed to speak again, it was directly into his mouth. “We have to— we can’t— Jason, _I am not doing this while people are watching_.”

With a shove, she managed to insert a few inches of space between them. Her resolve faltered almost immediately; he was unbearably beautiful in that moment, lips reddened and cheeks flushed and eyes glowing with arousal. _For her_. It didn’t seem possible, not for her, for ugly too-tall gangly Brienne Tarth. And yet…

And yet Jason smiled at her, dimples on full display, and caressed her cheek with reverence, as if it was made of crystal. He pried himself off her and hoisted her to her feet. Without a word, he took her hand and led her inside to the lushly appointed cabin she’d glimpsed upon arrival— could it be?— only two hours earlier.

The moment the door shut behind them, she was in his arms again, yielding to the firm, hungry pressure of his mouth, tempted beyond bearing. He parted her lips with his, and his talented tongue stroked into her mouth like rough, liquid heat, rubbing against hers in a way that made her light-headed. She slid her hand up the side of his neck, loving the thrum of his pulse against her palm. An inarticulate sound escaped Jason when she ran her fingers through his silky hair.

Somehow Brienne found a scrap of sanity to direct her body, edging toward the bed.  She wanted the warmth of him against her without having to worry about standing up— she wasn’t able to manage it any longer. She nudged him toward it until he sank back on the mattress. Unwilling to be parted from her for even a moment, he pulled her to drape over his reclining form. His hands were strong and warm, shaking as he fought to control himself.

But Brienne didn’t want Jason to be controlled, she wanted him as reckless and frantic as she was. She pressed her lips to the side of his throat and lightly caressed the skin there with the tip of her tongue, making him gasp. She rubbed up against him, teeth raking against the base of his neck, and he retaliated by sliding his fingers teasingly over her ribcage.

Unsurprisingly, he kept a running commentary of every thought that passed through his head.

“You’re so soft and warm,” he told her as his hands learned the parts of her she normally kept hidden by clothing. “I’ve wanted to touch you forever. You feel so good against me. I’ve got to get this shirt off, I need to feel your skin—”

Brienne peeled his shirt up and off, then her own. Once bared to him, she slid her chest against his, delighting in the gentle abrasion of his hair-roughened flesh against her skin.

“Yes, that’s it, that’s _perfect_ ,” Jason breathed. “Again.”

But before she had a chance to repeat herself, Jason rolled them so that he was on top and began to slip down. His hot mouth moved slowly over her, barely skimming her body as she shifted, impatient, aching. A brush of warm fingertips at her waist told her he was unfastening her jeans, which she was entirely in agreement with. She decided to help by kicking off her shoes and lifting her hips when he tugged at the fabric.

Her panties went with the jeans, and then there was the butterfly whisper of eyelashes against her belly. The warmth of his breath washed over her navel through the cool sea air as he kissed just below it. Brienne took a second to wonder; shouldn’t she be feeling some sort of self-conscious embarrassment? But all she was able to see, in reality and in her mind’s eye, was Jason’s hungry gaze roaming over her, and the utter lack of any hint of dissatisfaction on his face in that moment.

It seemed as if Brienne were drifting, or in a hazy dream. Her senses were almost painfully acute, and every one of them was filled with Jason. The warm drag of his palms over her skin, the prickle of his incipient beard, the strength of his body along her own, suddenly had her missing him intensely.

“Come back,” she murmured, shocked by how needy and wanton she sounded. “You’re too far away.”

He surged back up and over her, the avid lust on his face making secret muscles deep inside her spasm. Brienne abruptly felt empty, hollow, needing Jason to provide what would give her something she could clench around. He managed to pop a few stitches in his haste to get the bra off her, but she forestalled his apology with a ravenous kiss that had him groaning into her mouth.

“Let me… you don’t know how often I think about— oh, gods, yes.”  

She had a moment’s apprehension about her breasts, lacking anything but the slightest rise of flesh capped by large, rosy nipples. Jason fell on them like a starving man, however, sucking at her so strongly that any worry she might have had floated away on a sea of desire and sensation.

“Too many clothes,” she groaned as her hands fisted in his hair and she arched her back, trying to get more of herself into Jason’s mouth.

“Yes,” Jason agreed on a gasp, lips popping free of her breast. There was a mad scramble to divest him of his jeans and briefs, and then the long, hot press of him against her from shoulder to knee had Brienne moaning helplessly. Her tongue flicked hesitantly over his lips before he drew it into the heat of his mouth with a low groan.

His hands on her knees applied only enough encouragement to urge them apart. She capitulated with a sigh, convinced by the sound of her name accompanied by the spasmodic clutching of his fingers at her hips. Her legs parted, Jason slid between, and she bit back a cry at the rightness of it all.

Her fingers stroked feverishly over his skin, running unsteadily down his back as her hips leaped reflexively against his. She felt him smile faintly against her lips before he pulled back slightly, rubbing the tip of his nose against her throat, against flesh that was suddenly too hot, too sensitive. Her head tilted back. Brienne was barely aware of her teeth sinking into her lower lip.

His breathing became louder as he shifted between her thighs, tugging them around his hips. She shuddered, defenseless in the way she was spread open before him, _for_ him, and yet loving it.

“I can’t believe how good you feel,” he was muttering against her collarbone. “Heat pouring from you, you’re going to be so wet around me, Brienne, it’s all I’ve thought about for so long—”

The wet tip of his cock painted a slick trail across her belly as he slid against her and dimly, through the fog of lust hazing her mind, Brienne was reminded that they’d made no mention of protection whatsoever.

“Condom,” she managed to gasp against his sweat-damp forehead, and he went still.

He groaned. “I don’t know if there are any here, I didn’t plan on—”

“We can— there’s other things we can— I know they’re not as good, but—”

“I could fuck you with my tongue.” Jason’s breathing was harsh in her ear, his tone wondrous, as if he’d been handed a treat he’d never expected to be given. “I think about it every day. I’ve been wondering how you taste, never thought I’d have the chance to—”

“Jason, _gods_ ,” she wheezed in shock. He didn’t seem bothered by the prospect of alternatives in the slightest.

“And your mouth, licking my cock, sucking it, I imagine it every night, it makes me come so hard—”

His hoarse voice whispering filth into her ear had her positively writhing against him, so aroused she was on the verge of begging him.

“Something,” she said, a pleading note to her voice that she just couldn’t be arsed to worry over. Jason wouldn’t mock her for her desperation, she knew. “Anything. _Please_.”

She coiled her legs around his waist, rubbing herself against the solid column of his erection. It grazed over the swollen bud that craved stimulation so fiercely, but on the down-stroke it slid lower, and the rounded cap of his cock notched itself into her. Brienne’s muscles tensed, rolling beneath her skin. Her nails dug into him wherever she was able to reach, just a little, scratching lightly over the curve of his beautifully sculpted ass.

Brienne must have lost her mind for a moment, because her body acted without her direction; she gave a thin whine of pleasure, hips arching up, forcing herself up and around him. The stretch of her body around his thick shaft was gorgeous, making ecstasy ripple outward from her pelvis. He gave a terrible moan, as if he was being murdered, and clamped his hands on her hips to hold her still.

“No,” he managed to rasp through gritted teeth. “You wanted a condom, so…” He slid free, both of them hissing at the pleasure the motion sent streaking through them. “Condom.”

He raised himself off of her and strode into the bathroom, unconcerned with his own nudity, rampant arousal wobbling in front of him like a beacon lighting the way. Brienne’s eyes widened— that huge thing had fit in her? She thought back to her prior lovers; neither Hyle nor Tormund had boasted anything near the size that Jason was wielding. No wonder it had felt so incredible. She prayed with all her might that he had a condom, because she now had no other wish in life than to have him back inside her.

As he scrabbled through one vanity drawer, then another, her breath came harder as she propped herself up on her elbows and studied him. Clothed, he was insanely handsome, but nude… he was perfection made flesh. Wide shoulders, flat washboard of a belly and high, tight ass over long, muscled legs… altogether, he had her mouth watering. _Everything_ was watering; she’d never been so aroused in her life, could even feel herself dampening the inside of her thighs with how much she wanted him.

“Oh, thank all seven gods,” he exclaimed, and held up a little square in triumph as he turned back to her.

But then he stopped, staring down at her, an inscrutable expression on his face.

“What— what is it?” Brienne asked, her voice wobbly. Her confidence of a few minutes earlier crumbled, easily dismantled in the face of potential humiliation. There was an ocean of apprehension and self-doubt inside her, only barely held back by the frail belief that he cared for her, somehow desired her. Jason’s hesitation had that ocean thrashing against its constraints, making them rattle and shake, bending under the pressure, about to spill its contents—

“I just… I can’t believe you’re here,” he said, instead of what she’d feared, and his tone was amazed. Incredulous. He sounded very young, in that moment, even though she knew he was thirty-four, almost like a teenaged virgin having his first time. “That it’s really happening, after loving you for so long.”

Brienne was utterly speechless, but suddenly everything was… fine. Her fear and worry just faded away, leaving her brimming with nothing but want.

“It’s happening,” she told him, and lifted her arms, opening them for him. “But it’s taking a really long time, so if you could get a move on—”

He was back on top of her before she could finish, kissing her fiercely.

“I didn’t realize you were so impatient,” he said, laying a row of love-bites down her throat.

“Only about this,” she moaned. “Where’s the condom? Don’t make me wait any longer for you.”

He levered himself up and sat back on his heels. “You haven’t been waiting near as long as I have,” he said as he ripped open the foil packet. “I wanted you from… the second day, I think.” He carefully rolled the condom down his cock as Brienne watched, voracious. To expedite matters, she parted her legs for him, so he could get into position as soon as possible. But when he looked up again, his gaze fastened on her spread-open thighs and what lay between them.

He gave a heartfelt groan. “You look… oh, gods…”

And he fell on her, mouth crashing onto hers as he pulled her legs around his waist. “Can’t wait any longer,” he muttered against her lips. “Need you around me— so hot— you’re so _wet—_ ”

He sank into her, slowly this time, and Brienne’s breath was only shallow gasps as sensation ricocheted through her body in outward-flowing waves.

“Oh, yessssss,” she moaned, near-delirious with lust. That tight stretch felt like nothing else ever had and she shimmied over the bed as her hips danced in frenzied reaction. She became faintly aware of a burning, tingling sensation in the soles of her feet, and the low rumble he was making in his throat. The fingers of one hand clenched and pulled in his hair, while her other cupped his neck, shaking. He made a low sound of approval and began to rock his pelvis unsteadily in slow, torturous thrusts.

She tightened around him, squeezing him within her. Jason made an odd, thin sound of shocked pleasure and bucked his hips. He stroked into her fast and hard for a half-dozen thrusts and Brienne cried out, back arching as pleasure eddied through her.

“I won’t last long,” he warned her breathlessly, finally settling into a more measured and patient rhythm. “It’s too good.”

It was good— _gods_ , yes, it was good— but Brienne might just prefer his uncontrolled thrusts, the knowledge that she had him so wild that he just forgot himself and _fucked_ her. She was too overwhelmed. She should be worried about the crew, that they knew what she and Jason were up to in the cabin. But the perfect fit of his hips between her thighs, the cool silk of his hair falling against her neck, the teasing flicks of his tongue against hers, combined to drive practical considerations from her mind.

Balanced on the precipice, through the roaring of blood in her ears, she saw him raise his head. Fierce, hooded emerald eyes in a flushed face met hers, and then his voice rasped a command against overheated skin, his hand grasping under her knee as he thrust himself impossibly deep inside her once more.

“Come with me.”

The words, thick with arousal, and the caress of his lips and breath made her shiver and squeeze her eyes shut. She’d wanted him so much, for so long, and to finally be able to _have_ him, was more than she could bear. His mouth slanted over hers with a starved growl, and she began to shake, her limbs contracting even tighter around him as climax approached like an oncoming train, inexorable, the sweetest doom there was. She writhed, trying with all her might not to scream, but—

“Oh, gods!” she wailed when it crashed over her, a heavy undertow sweeping her far from shore. “Yes! Jason, yes!”

She let the spasms take her, the rhythmic clasp around his hard thickness so immensely satisfying she could only cling to him and quiver, crying out. He followed right after, giving a guttural shout as he trembled in her arms, pressing until it seemed as if he was in the very heart of her.

When she had control of herself again, when she was back in her body instead of hovering among the stars, she realized that he was clutching her as if he were terrified she’d get up and leave him that very moment. After what had just happened? After the world’s most momentous lovemaking? After an orgasm that had rocked the foundations of all of Westeros?

“Jason,” she breathed into his ear. She didn’t know what else to say. There didn’t seem to be words adequate to the task of expressing what she thought, how she felt, in that moment. Her skin glowed with exertion and joy; her heart seemed as if it had doubled in size and its every beat was for him, only for him. So she just settled for saying his name again. “Jason.”

That was all she needed, everything summed up in that one word, two little syllables that meant every single thing in the world.

His grip around her relaxed marginally, but he was still wound around her like a particularly ardent vine. There was a faint vibration on her neck, and Brienne realized Jason was whispering against her throat. His face was pressed so close that all she could hear was a low mutter of consonants running together.

“Jm,” it sounded as if he was saying. “Mnmz Jm.”  


	12. Chapter 12

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The weekend passed like a dream Brienne had never dared to permit herself. Jason woke her with kisses a few hours after they’d both collapsed into sleep, exhausted, and proceeded to exhaust her again. Had she thought she’d had sex before him? Oh, she had done it all before— they didn’t get up to anything weird or unusual— but the difference between her lackluster bouts with Hyle and Tormund bore no resemblance whatsoever to what it was like to make love with Jason.

Tormund had been lusty but goal-oriented, spending little time on preliminaries before getting to the main event, which would end almost before it began. Brienne took longer to rouse, needing time to relax from her apprehension about being naked around another person. And while it was gratifying that Tormund never seemed in any way disappointed with her body, he was puzzled and sometimes impatient with her slower response.

Hyle’s problem seemed to go in the opposite direction; he took forever to get hard enough and it didn’t take much for him to lose his erection, either. He always insisted it was because he was struggling to get enough protein, as a vegan, and that he’d adjust his diet once again. Brienne had always had a sneaking suspicion it was because he was not really attracted to her and only going through the motions, though.

Neither issue presented itself with Jason. If anything, he was the one wanting to take his time, lavishing long voluptuous kisses and sensual touching upon her. It often seemed as if he were trying to memorize the exact texture of the thin skin in the crook of her elbow or the precise slope of her collarbones. But lack of attraction was not even a remote possibility; his erection was rock-solid, arcing up toward his belly, at the barest touch, and didn’t flag the slightest bit until after he came.

And he talked the whole time, too, between strokes of his tongue and the kisses he lavished upon every inch of her body. It was utterly bizarre to her, how all the characteristics that had repelled men in the past seemed only to delight him.

“Your freckles are gorgeous,” he murmured into the negligible curve of her waist, touching his lips to every one he could reach.

“So strong,” he marveled as he raked his teeth lightly, lightly, over her bicep.

“You taste incredible,” he whispered, and then sucked not only her nipple but the entirety of her tiny breast into his mouth.

She’d always believed her thick lips unsightly at best, but when they were wrapped around his cock, he moaned and shook and said they were perfect. Her big hands, too, weren’t repellent to him; he quivered beneath them as she explored his body, arching to press himself more firmly into them.

Even her awful hair pleased him; he’d comb his fingers through it, bury his face in it, inhaling deeply. He liked plunging his hand into it to bring her face to his for a kiss, and to hold her head as he slid in and out of her mouth.

And he couldn’t seem to get enough of her, uh… well, she’d never been one to really think about her parts, beside coping with the usual monthly ordeal. Jason, however, seemed to have done a lot of thinking about it and could not get enough of it.

“Gods, you are so beautiful here,” he breathed when he shifted down her body, between her legs, for the first time. He pressed his face into the patch of pubic hair she’d always thought far more substantial than anyone would find attractive. After a single, disastrous attempt at winnowing down its bounty, resulting in a very unpleasant regrowth experience, she’d given up; her lovers (and how amazed she’d been, for the word to be plural!) would just have to cope with her _au naturel_. Jason didn’t mind at all, if the way he buried his nose in it, tugged lightly on it, stroked and petted it were any indication.

He explored her there as minutely as an archaeologist with a priceless artifact, teasing discoveries out of her that even she hadn’t known. She was more sensitive on the left side than the right, it appeared, so of course he focused his attentions there, licking and rubbing and suckling until she was wailing as if she were being viciously tortured.

He talked while she pleasured him, as well, when she touched him, raking her nails across his buttery-soft skin, caressing firmly to feel the solidity of muscle and bone, feathering her fingertips over the hair of his forearms, chest, legs, and groin.

“Please, yes,” he whispered. “More of that… so good, Brienne. Right there— ahhhh, yes. I love you. I love you.”

That made her heart catch, frozen within the cage of her ribs in terrified rapture. He said it constantly, almost as punctuation to all his other lavish compliments.

“You taste so good, I love you,” he’d croon as he slipped his tongue inside her, and when she wrapped her arms and legs around him, “Hold me tighter, I love you, like that, yes. Love you. Love you so much.”

She knew they’d explored Dragonstone, eaten lunch at a restaurant atop the black cliffs, bought a few dragonglass baubles for Sansa and Gilly in a shop on a twisty cobblestoned alley, but she hardly remembered anything but the way she felt permeated with a silvery glow of joy the entire day. She was free to touch him, to kiss him, to tell him she loved him, any time she wanted, now, no longer had to hold it back for fear of alienating and losing him. He was touching and kissing her, telling her he loved her, just as often, so all that apprehension dissolved, floating away like motes of dust.

That evening was another endless marathon of sex, broken only by a scant hour of sleep between bouts. Brienne was not complaining; they had a lot of catching up to do, and Jason’s enthusiasm never seemed to diminish. She woke up once to find him laying on his side, studying her, with the same expression that she’d seen so many times before. She had mistaken it for his gentle nature but she now knew it was love suffusing his face, softening the angles. She was weirded out, at first, to be so closely scrutinized, but the sweetness of his smile, upon noticing she was awake, went far in allaying her tension.

And then she found herself doing the same to Jason, observing him as he slept, marveling at his beauty, almost wracked with longing, which was silly, because he was right there next to her, had just made love to her for the fourth time that day, had told her of his devotion innumerable times. But still… it wasn’t enough, seemed too impossible. How many times had she woken from a dream exactly like that, only to find herself alone in her bed but for the animals?

She couldn’t resist reaching out with a hand that trembled, cupping his cheek, amazed just like every other time previous that she was allowed to do it. That he _wanted_ her to do it. The prickle of his scruff, the heat of his skin, the faint dampness at his hairline from their exertions earlier. His eyes opened and the corners of his mouth twitched in a faint smile, but soon relaxed. Jason didn’t move, didn’t speak. He simply lay there, returning her gaze, and Brienne was– complete. There had been a hollow place inside her but she hadn’t realized it until that moment, when it overflowed and sealed, leaving no scar, only unblemished wholeness.

She didn’t know how long they lay there, watching each other in perfect happiness, but eventually she fell asleep again, roused by Jason dropping ticklish little kisses over her face. When she opened her eyes, he smiled and kissed her lips.

“I’d love to fuck you again,” he said cheerfully, “but we have a decision to make.”

“Oh?” she replied, even as her entire body thrummed with awareness of him. After a night of lovemaking, his scent was mouthwatering— musky and male and something indefinably _Jason_ — and she had an almost overwhelming urge to burrow under the covers and use her mouth on him until he was gasping, then climb on top of him and—

“Gods, if you were hard to resist before,” he murmured, drawing her attention back to whatever he was saying, “when you look at me like that… like you’ll die if you don’t have me right now.”

Her unfocused gaze sharpened once more. “I will,” she said simply, bringing her hand up to frame his face. “I spent so long wanting you, thinking I’d never be able to do even this.” She stroked his cheekbone with her thumb. “Let alone all the— other things,” she concluded lamely, her courage giving out after having said that much.

Jason covered her hand with his, turning to drop a kiss in her palm before pressing it harder against his cheek. “What sort of other things?” he prompted, a grin starting. “You never did tell me what your dirty smiles were about.”

Brienne tried, and failed, to suppress a grin of her own. “They were about you,” she admitted. “At the beginning, before I knew your name, I thought of you as Pantyslayer.”

He blinked at her in astonishment before bursting into laughter, rolling onto his back and guffawing. Brienne laughed, too, happy enough to burst.

“You sure took your time letting me slay your panties,” he said at last, turning his head on the pillow to look at her. “I had decided to tell you I love you this weekend. Today. I figured I’d get you in the best mood of your life, so when I finally said it, you’d be extra nice about letting me down.”

She began to laugh. Jason watched her, a faint smirk on his lips, but as she continued to laugh, he quirked a brow. “Is it _that_ funny?”

“Yes,” she said on a gasp, and shifted to drape herself across his chest. She used to be self-conscious about her size and weight, more with skinny little Hyle than with Tormund, but with Jason she had no such misgivings. He loved how big she was, he’d told her, how solid and strong, and that having her on top of him helped convince him that it was real, that _they_ were real, that she was truly with him and loved him in return.

“Because I had been thinking the same thing,” she continued when she was comfortable. “That you care for me as a friend and would be kind when you rejected me. I was worried about making things awkward between us— I am _very_ good at making things awkward— but—” and here she ducked her head, still shy despite everything, and stared down at the hollow of his throat. How had she never noticed how intensely sexy the hollow of this throat was? All corded and golden-tan, she bet it was delicious, like the rest of him—

“But?” he prompted, finger under her chin lifting it so their eyes could meet.

“But I couldn’t hold it in any longer,” she finished in a rush. “Even if it made things weird, I couldn’t—”

He tackled her again, as he had on the deck when she’d revealed her love to him, rolling over so she was on her back and he was stretched over her, six-foot-two and everything beautifully in proportion. His lips teased hers to part and his tongue played tenderly with hers as he slid a long-muscled thigh between hers, his hand finding her breast and cupping it with the exact amount of grip he’d learned she liked.

“I was so afraid to lose you,” he breathed when he lifted his head. “I thought that even the pain of holding back was better than having none of you at all. You’re far braver than I am.”

“I’m not.” She kissed his mouth, then his chin. “I’m weak. Even knowing there was a chance you wouldn’t feel the same, I couldn’t keep quiet.”

“There was no chance of that,” he told her. “Ever.”

Brienne drew him down and buried her face against his neck. “I love you,” she said, very softly, and felt him swallow hard.

“I don’t ever want to hurt you,” Jason whispered, an odd tone to his voice that had her pulling back to look him in the face, where little lines of strain were appearing around his eyes. He skimmed a fingertip over her cheek with such love it seemed almost like reverence.

“You won’t,” she told him easily. “Just keep being as good to me as you have so far, and everything will be fine.”

He stared at her before finally nodding. He began to trail his lips down her throat, but she threaded her fingers in his hair and tugged his face back up to hers.

“So what’s this decision we have to make?” she asked.

Jason groaned. “Ask me after—”

“No, now.” She tugged on a golden strand falling over his forehead. “We’ll get distracted and it’ll be hours before—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he groused, but there was humor glinting in his eyes. “Fine. Our decision is when you want to leave, because if we’re going to stay a few more hours, we should probably tell the crew at some point. They’re expecting to leave in an hour.”

“Oh!” Brienne exclaimed, flinging back the covers, but he grabbed them from her hand, pulling them messily over the two of them again.

“It’s fine. They’re full-time staff and are aware they might have to stay later. We just have to let them know.”

She eyed him with skepticism. “If they’re okay with it…”

Jason laughed and rolled to his back, reaching for the bedside phone. “Hey, yeah, we’re staying until evening. Not sure when. No, no dinner needed, but we’d like lunch in…” He ran a lascivious eye over where Brienne lay, rumpled and debauched, beside him. “…two hours.”

When he hung up, he rolled back to his side facing her. “So which of our apartments do you want to spend the night in from now on? Because I’m never sleeping apart from you again. So… my place? Yours? I don’t care which, as long as you’re in the bed with me.”

“Whichever is closer,” she decided, even as her head spun at his words; ‘never again’? That sounded… lengthy. Long-term. _Permanent_. A thrill ran up her spine at the idea of the rest of her life with him.

It was too soon to talk of marriage, of course, though she had a jittery, excited suspicion that if she asked him that very moment, he’d say yes. She’d thought she might marry, one day, but always expected it would happen with someone like Tormund or Hyle, something to do so she wasn’t alone, so she would have children. To do it because the idea of being without the other person was unthinkable… that was unthinkable, too.

“Practical. I like it,” Jason announced, propping his head on his sole hand.

He’d detached the prosthetic at some point in the night, she noticed, and reached out to take his stump in her hand.

At first, he resisted, but she persisted and he slowly relaxed until she was able to bring it close enough to press a kiss to.

“I’d like to know how it happened,” she said. “If you’ll tell me.”

He swallowed, an expression of great unease appearing. “Maybe later. Soon. But not just yet.”

She hadn’t meant to make him uncomfortable, and hastened to soothe the discomfort from his face with kisses to cheeks and nose and chin and forehead. Jason basked in her attentions, laying tame in her arms as she lavished them upon him like a big cat lazing in the sun.

“You’re too good for me,” he rasped eventually, his eyes hazy with pleasure. “I don’t deserve you.” When she opened her mouth to object, he kissed her, slow and wet, explicitly sensual. “I _don’t_. I never will. But I love you too much to leave you alone as I should.”

“I don’t want you to leave me alone.” Her voice was husky with desire and lust, with a surrender she never in her life thought she’d be comfortable in giving in to. In that moment, she yielded all of herself to Jason, every bit of her mind and body and soul.

_Mine forever,_ she thought possessively, arms and legs winding around him to hold him close. _Yours forever._

“Since we’re staying a few more hours, and lunch won’t arrive for a while…” he purred into her ear, nipping the lobe and darting the tip of his tongue behind it to the patch of exquisitely sensitive skin hidden there.

His hand, meanwhile, took a leisurely stroll down her body from neck to pelvis, making a detour at her breasts to pinch a nipple to aching attention before continuing to its goal, fingers sliding between her thighs and inside her as expertly as if he had a decade of experience with her instead of little more than the length of a day.

Brienne arched, legs falling wide as if he’d said ‘open sesame’, and moaned into his mouth.

“You’re very persuasive, ser,” she gasped, “but I don’t know if you’ve demonstrated—”

Jason claimed to have little of the dexterity of his lost right hand in the left, but as he did something that made fireworks burst behind her eyelids, she had trouble believing that. He added his thumb to the mix, doing some sort of sinful circling-rubbing motion that made her whimper shamefully.

“Okay, you’ve convinced me,” she panted, and felt him smile against her lips.

“I thought you might think so,” he said, and kissed her again.

~*~

The animals were near-delirious with joy to have Brienne and Jason return, but they also could tell something fundamental had changed between them, because there was a bizarre and prolonged silence as the dogs and cat and even Jackson Polly spent several minutes doing nothing but sniff them. They were undoubtedly able to scent them on each other, despite having showered, and it was a bit peculiar-feeling but also deeply satisfying in a primitive way that they’d left their marks bone-deep.

They walked everyone, then convened in Jason’s apartment and he started heating up dinner. Brienne was about to plunk down on the sofa and give everyone some of the quality time they’d missed that weekend when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” she called back to Jason, and swung open the door.

Before her stood Tyrion Lannister, finger poised to ring the bell again. He stared up at her a long moment and then smirked as he lowered his arm.

“And everything becomes clear,” he said in his deep, resonant voice.

“Pardon me?” she asked politely, even as she wondered what he could possibly be doing there on a Sunday evening.

“Never mind,” he replied. “May I come in?”

She frowned in confusion. “Um. Sure, but… why?”

_He_ frowned in confusion. “Because I’d like to see my brother?”

Brienne frowned harder. “Then you’ve got the wrong place, because your brother doesn’t live here.”

Tyrion also frowned harder. “Yes, he does. I’ve visited him here before.”

She gave him a kind smile, thinking he must be lost or terribly confused. “I know everyone who lives in this building. I’d know if a Lannister, of all people, moved in… especially next door to me.”

After what they’d done to the Starks, she’d be far more aware than most, in fact.

“Who lives here, then?” Tyrion asked, his tone challenging.

She exhaled, starting to get annoyed. “Jason Caster-Leigh.”

Tyrion’s face went slack, jaw hanging loose in astonishment. Brienne blinked, wondering what in the world was wrong with him, and deciding Jason needed to join them and put the matter to rest.

“Jason?” she called, her eyes never leaving Tyrion’s face. He shut his mouth with an audible click, a muscle ticking in his cheek as his eyes narrowed.

“Hmmm?” Jason stepped from the kitchen, gaze cast down to where he dried his hands on a dishtowel.

“You idiot,” Tyrion growled, and Jason’s head shot up. His face shifted from curious to stunned to horrified in the span of a second. They stared at each other in silence for a long, endless, tense moment. “You fucking _idiot_.”


	13. Chapter 13

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~*~

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“What are you doing here?” Jason demanded of Tyrion. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes bright, but with anxiety, not passion.

She didn’t know much about the Lannisters. She’d never been aware of the individual family members, only that the collective of them had done their damnedest to ruin the Starks. And that they were notorious for ruthless business practices and less-than-forthright dealings.

_Who are you?_ Brienne wondered, but she already knew all she needed to know: he was a Lannister.

She couldn’t bring herself to say the words, though, couldn’t ask him, because then it would be _real_. Some delusional little part of her was hoping, desperate, that there had been a mistake, that it was just a tasteless, unfunny joke. That they were still asleep on the yacht; that her psyche, damaged by trickery and japes over the years, was force-feeding her a terrible dream. That her fears had manifested into a subconscious farce of mistaken identities and deception.

But she doubted her dreams were able to match the reality of Jason standing before her, tense and drawn, his face white and strained. No apology, no explanation. He just… _stood_ there. Watching. Waiting. He stared at her, mute, eyes wide and distraught but… not guilty. He was upset to have gotten caught, not for having done it in the first place.

Tyrion’s mismatched gaze flicked between Jason— his _brother_ , apparently— and Brienne without cease, back and forth, back and forth.

“Father is calling in his favor for, uh…” He trailed off, eyes shying away from her at that point to fix on Jason. He looked immensely uncomfortable, clearly not wanting to step on the verbal minefield that stretched between the three of them. “I should go.” He gestured through the still-open door to the hallway. “I’ll just… yeah.”

He turned and made straight for the elevator. “Thank the gods,” could be heard muttered when it dinged its arrival before too long, and he kept his eyes fastidiously cast downward as he waited for the doors to slide shut.

Jason stepped forward, and for a second Brienne thought he was approaching her, meaning to take her in his arms. The idea of actually touching him was not something she was able to bear at that moment. Without thinking, driven only by impulse, she stepped back, flinching away. When she looked back, it was to find him standing there, immobile, looking shattered.

Then he swallowed, dropping his gaze, and gave her a wide berth as he walked past to shut the door.

Twin impulses, to scream or laugh, warred within her; neither won. Somewhere within her was the fortitude to keep from making a fool of herself— _more_ of a fool— or crying. Dry-eyed, stone-faced, she groped for words while he stood there, mute, watching her.

“What is your name?” she managed at last, her voice shockingly calm when she was filled with such turmoil. After what they’d shared and been to each other, to need to such a question made a wail of fury and pain simmer below the surface, straining to burst free.

“Jaime,” he replied quietly. “I’m Jaime. Jason was my uncle’s name.”

_Ah._ No wonder Miss Olenna and Addam had stumbled over addressing him.

“And your last name? If you’re really a Lannister… what is Caster-Leigh from?”

“Our home. The family estate. It’s called Casterly Rock.”

Of course there was a family estate… with a fancy name, no less. “All this time… you had so many chances to tell me. But you never did.”

“By the time we told each other our names, you’d already mentioned knowing the Starks,” he said quickly. “I didn’t want you to judge me because of my family. And later, after we’d become closer, I was afraid what admitting it would do. That it would upset you.”

“It has,” said Brienne distantly. _Understatement of the year_. “It has upset me.”

Jason nodded eagerly, looking relieved she understood. “Before I knew it, it had gotten away from me.”

What an innocent way to put it, as if it were a mischievous, energetic kitten, as if a monumental falsehood were able to scamper and frolic out of reach despite all attempts to contain it.

“How could you have let me think I was in love with—” She paused. Her throat felt clogged, thick. It was a struggle to speak past it. “With someone who doesn’t exist?”

Because that was what it came down to: Brienne had fallen in love with Jason Caster-Leigh.

The man before her was not Jason Caster-Leigh.

Jason didn’t lie to her, didn’t pretend to be other than himself. He cared for her, respected her, would never _trick_ her—

“I _do_ exist,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “I’m right here. I’ve been here the whole time. This is who I really am, who I’ve been all along. I had to hide it, to survive in my family.”

“You know what I mean, dammit,” Brienne snapped. “This entire weekend—”

“I never expected that this weekend would turn out as it has,” he protested. “The best outcome, the best I might hope for, was telling you I love you and you being kind about it as you rejected me. Remember? I already told you—”

“You told me a lot of things.” A flash of pain in Brienne’s cheek startled her, both sudden and familiar. She’d ground her teeth in high school, during the worst of the bullying and mockery; she had grown out of the habit, but there it was again.

She’d worked so hard to get past those days, had spent the last ten years of her life moving past the hurt. Hadn’t wanted to be one of those people who couldn’t get beyond what was done to them in their youths. Had tried to be more canny about the human capacity for cruelty. Had thought she’d built up good, sturdy defenses to block what she couldn’t avoid.

He had blasted through all of those defenses, turning her mental fortification into rubble within seconds.

She rubbed at her jaw, trying to massage the cramping muscle to relax. “Were any of them true?”

“All of them. _All_ of them, Brienne,” he said urgently. “The only thing I wasn’t truthful about was my name. Everything else— what my father and sister are like, what happened when I lost my hand—”

“Is that why you never told me how that happened?” she interrupted.

He nodded. “It’s all wrapped up in being a Lannister. I’ll tell you now. I’ll tell you everything, anything you want to know.” There was a jittery edge to him, something frantic that made Brienne’s chest hurt to see even as her anger roiled just below her surface calm. “The foreman of the Castamere mine—”

“I don’t care about that.” Yesterday, even only ten minutes earlier, she’d have been aghast at the idea of interrupting him so rudely; now, she barely noticed. Any timidity she might have had, any reluctance to hurt his feelings, had fled with the speed of a runaway train. “It doesn’t matter.”

He reared back as if she’d slapped him, and for a moment, she wished she had. The times Tormund and Hyle had hurt her— Tormund inadvertently because of his clumsiness, Hyle because of his general insensitivity to anyone’s feelings but his own— she’d only felt a second’s pique, swiftly overshadowed by a conviction she’d done something to deserve it.

This time, though… the pain of it howled through her like a hurricane, and a primitive part of her wanted to hurt him back just as badly. _How could you — how could you — how could you?_ cycled through her muddled brain over and over.

A little _click_ seemed to occur in her head as realization dropped into place. Why had Tyrion said “and all becomes clear”? What did Jason and Tyrion and Brienne have in common with each other? What other sibling had Tyrion referenced when he said he and another child of Tywin Lannister had needed to do some fancy footwork to avert disaster to the clinic? Why had Jason looked so proud when she’d said disaster was averted?

“The clinic building,” she said, staring at Jason in amazement. “You arranged for the rent hike to be reversed.”

“You said if you lost your job, you’d have to leave,” he said in a rush, as if the words all wanted to tumble out at once. “That you’d go back to Tarth or up North. I made it so you were able to stay. I was already in love with you by then. I couldn’t stand the idea of losing you when I’d just found you.”

“You _lied_ to me, Ja— Jaime.” The name tasted strange, her mouth accustomed to a different sound following the first syllable. She’d said his name so many ways—she’d said it to scold him and praise him, used it to mention him to her family and friends, cried it in ecstasy, moaned and whispered it.  

“This is the only thing I’ve lied about, Brienne. Except for this, everything was true. _Is_ true. It’s all been the real me.”

“There is no ‘except for’,” she protested. “There aren’t levels or degrees of lying. Either you did, or you didn’t. And it wasn’t a white lie, something done for the greater good. There’s no way you can minimize or excuse it. You just flat-out lied to me.”

“That’s the Lannister way,” he replied bitterly. “We want what we want, and if we have to cut some corners to get it, so be it.”

“Stop blaming your family!” Brienne shouted. She moved another few paces away, needing more space between them. “Your family didn’t do this! Your family didn’t lie to my face! Your family didn’t pretend to be someone else. For _months_! That was all you, Jaime.”

She said his real name for the first time without stumbling over the _Jason_ she was so used to. It was like a death knell. _Jason is gone._ The pain of it, yet again, was a shock to her system, and she had to put a hand out to the wall to steady herself.

He was at her side in an instant, not just putting his hands out to keep her from falling but pulling her into his arms just like how Jason had held her, and Brienne despised herself for her body’s automatic response: she softened against him, muscle memory causing her to melt into his embrace as she’d done when he’d been someone else.

His warmth soaked into her like rain falling on parched earth, and his familiar, beloved scent filled her lungs, making them freeze. She reminded herself to breathe. She had been hurt worse than this, before. She had lost her mother, her sisters, but she had endured. She would survive this as well.

“All right,” she said, and her voice almost sounded normal, if you didn’t count the stuffy nose and hoarse throat. She pulled free of his arms. “Okay. I can do this.”

She raised her eyes to his face and winced at what she saw: misery, pain, and a terrible, desperate hope that she’d be able to forgive his deceit, to love him instead of Jason… or perhaps in spite of Jason. _Oh, gods._

Whatever words she’d begun to collect fled her. A powerful, irresistible urge to get away, to flee, to be anywhere but there, overtook her. Stiffening, she shook off his hands, unable to stand his touch even one moment longer.

“I have to go.” Thank the gods that most of the animals had moved on and all she had left, besides the parrot and lizards, were Edgar and Bruce. She looked over at where they’d been with Cersei and Pod the entire time, watching with wide, confused eyes. “Let’s… let’s take a walk, guys.”

“Brienne, stay,” Jason entreated. “Please… we can talk this through. We can get past it.”

But she turned and walked out of his apartment, knowing the cat and dog would follow her. Jaime said her name again, called to her, but she concentrated on putting one foot in front of another. Luck was with her, for once: when she pressed the elevator button, the doors opened almost immediately and she and the dog and cat stepped inside. Jaime was a blur of gold and green in her unfocused gaze as he followed her into the hallway, watching as the doors shut, his face strained and white.

It seemed like a year passed in the time it took for the elevator to descend. When it deposited her and the animals in the lobby, she found Jaime standing there, panting, as the door to the stairwell closed with a pneumatic wheeze.

“Brienne. _Please_.” He planted himself directly in front of her, his hand stretched out to her in supplication. “ _Please_ let me explain. Let me tell you about losing my hand, about growing up with my father and my sister. Let me tell you what they did to Tyrion.”

Her throat clamped shut and she struggled to swallow as memories swamped her—how he’d reached out to her in the park, how he had held her that first time, the way she’d nearly swooned when he’d first kissed her. Grief seemed like it was caving her chest in.

And damn her stupid, hopeful heart, because it squeezed at the notion that Jason might still be there. She stared at him, at his earnest, desperate face, and all she could think was how he’d looked just as earnest every time he’d answered to ‘Jason Caster-Leigh’.

It finally clicked together for Brienne; Jason wasn’t gone. He’d never existed in the first place. There had only ever been Jaime, a stranger, someone who could lie to her a hundred times while making her think he loved her.

Trust didn’t come easily to her, but she’d felt a kinship with him from the start, had taken a chance on believing in him. It had ended up a poorly calculated risk. She thought of all she’d revealed to him, how much of herself she’d cracked open and shown him, how she’d let him into her home, into her _body_ , and felt ill.

She tried to sidle past him, other hand pressed to her churning belly, but he reached out and grasped her arm.

“Let me go, Jason.” They both winced, at that. “Jaime,” she corrected. It still tasted weird in her mouth.

“I can’t, Brienne.” It was said so softly, almost a whisper.

She detached his hand from her arm. “You have to.”

She strode past him and out of the building, randomly turning left and blindly following the sidewalk. She walked and walked and walked until persistent meowing penetrated her haze of heartache. Blinking, she looked down to find Bruce and Edgar staring up at her, Bruce pacing back and forth in agitation. She’d been practically racing down the sidewalk and to have kept pace with her… they must be exhausted. Guilt rose up to battle with her confusion and pain, leaving her muddled and drained.

Where was she? How far had she walked? What time was it? Her surroundings were only vaguely familiar and the sky overhead was ink-black, spangled with stars that seemed far too cheerful for her despondent mood. She couldn’t bear the idea of returning home, laden as it was with memories just waiting to sink sharp teeth into the most tender parts of her.

And Jason— Jaime— would undoubtedly be there, as well, either in her apartment or in his own but waiting to hear her footsteps as she passed. She needed clarity and focus if she were to figure out how she felt and what she should do. And his pleading face and sad eyes and persuasive voice were not conducive in the least to achieving those. The lizards and Jackson had been fed; they were fine for the night. She did not have to go home.

The knowledge was a relief, but… she had to go _somewhere_. If nothing else, it wasn’t fair to Edgar and Bruce, who both stared at her with worry on their dear fuzzy faces. A low stone wall ran along the inner edge of the sidewalk and Brienne sank down onto its flat surface with a sigh.

Bruce hopped up right away onto her lap, headbutting her hand until she pet him. Edgar sat on her feet, resting his shaggy head on her knee, his lone eye big and soulful as he gazed up at her in confused sympathy. She dropped her other hand down to scritch his ears. For unknown minutes, she just… sat there, her mind blank but for a pervading sense of misery.

When Bruce settled into a loaf on her knees and tucked his paws comfortably under himself, freeing one of Brienne’s hands, she used it to dig in her pockets, heaving a sigh of relief when she found she’d had her phone on her when the world ended.

It was barely eight o’clock. Her GPS said she was at least a mile from their— _her_ — building. Her keys had been left behind, and her wallet, and now that she’d stopped power-walking, the coolness of the autumn night was teaming up with shock to make her shiver.

And, to heap insult upon injury, she hadn’t eaten since lunch, as Tyrion had arrived before they could tuck into the meal Jason— Jaime— had warmed up for them. And the animals had to be tired, by that point. She needed to find somewhere to go.

Mere hours ago, the only person she’d have considered, she’d have wanted to see, was Jason.

_Jason never existed._

Sandor would be too angry; Sansa too emotional. Brienne longed for Galladon; he’d have sat resolutely beside her, not speaking until she asked him a question, unperturbed if they didn’t say a word for days if she didn’t want to. But he was on Tarth with her father, who would be both too angry _and_ too emotional, veering between tears and pounding his fist into his other hand to stifle the urge to commit mayhem.

Brienne scrolled through her contacts until she found the person who she knew she could count on to help without weeping all over her or threatening to maim Jason— _Jaime_ — or talking until her head seemed near to bursting from all the words.

It rang twice, and then a foggy voice answered, “Bwuh?”

“I need your help,” she said, her own voice none too clear through the tears clogging her throat. “Can you come get me, Robb?”

“I… maybe?” he replied. “Theon, can we go get Brienne?”

“Suuuure,” slurred Theon in the background, “but it’ll have to be on the subway or an Uber because we are _way_ too fucked up to drive, man.”

Brienne sighed. “You know what, never mind, I’ll—”

“No! We can— just give us— where are you? Someone will be there, Brienne,” said Robb, in the tone of someone severely impaired but trying hard to function normally. “I promise. Someone will come get you.”

“Don’t ask anyone in your family,” she said, adding, “ _or_ mine. They’ll…” She sighed. “They’ll freak out.”

“What the hell happened?” he demanded. “Theon, are you texting— no, not them. No. None of my brothers or sisters. Gods, _especially_ not Arya.”

“I’ll tell you in person,” Brienne promised. All the energy had drained from her; she felt as limp as old lettuce. “I’m on the corner of Barracks Boulevard and Wheelwright Street. I’ve got Edgar and Bruce with me.”

“Let me see what I can come up with,” said Robb. “Someone will be there soon.”

“Okay,” she said, and hung up. That had been strange, but Robb was strange, and stranger still when Theon was around. Ridiculous, the both of them, and so was her situation… stomping around King’s Landing on a Sunday night with a one-eyed dog and a three-legged cat, what the _hells_ was she doing—

A hundred emotions pelted her, in that moment, and Brienne dropped her face in her hands, shuddering as she fought to keep from crying. Edgar pressed closer to her legs and Bruce draped himself up her chest until he could tuck his face under her chin. She wrapped an arm around the cat, holding him close, and scritched the dog’s head, hoping to soothe them. Bad enough to have dragged them along with her on her blind flight from the apartment building, but there was no need to worry them more than they already were.

Brienne sat there, waiting for her ride, feeling stupid and lost and more alone than ever before.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments! I'm so happy to know you're enjoying the story, especially now that the drama has ramped up. It's interesting to me that so many of you are Team Jaime on this one, rather than Team Brienne, so I wanted to explain a bit about why I have her reacting like this. Please see the end note.

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~*~

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She didn’t know how long she sat there with Edgar and Bruce, trying without much success to banish her memories of the past six months. Eventually, a minivan came to a halt before her and Gilly poked her head from the window.

“Hi, Brienne!” she said. “Robb asked if we could bring you from here—” she gazed at their surroundings, clearly confused as to why she’d be picking her coworker, and her pets, up from a random part of town “—to his place. You ready to go?”

“Yes,” said Brienne, uncomfortable to put out so many people. The alternative was not to be borne, however, so she duly stepped to the minivan and slid open the door. She helped Bruce and Edgar inside, and then climbed after them to sit beside Little Sam in his car seat.

Inside was the usual sticky clutter of a small family with a toddler. Sam, Gilly’s husband, was at the steering wheel and Little Sam waved at her from his car seat with a gap-toothed smile.

“Hi,” Brienne said weakly as she dragged the door shut. “Thanks. I’m sorry Robb bothered you, I thought he was coming himself, or Theon…”

“I think they tried,” said Sam as he put the minivan in gear and carefully pulled back into traffic. “But they’re—” He stopped, glancing in the rear-view mirror at his son. “Indisposed,” he finished, eyes twinkling as they met Brienne’s in the mirror.

 _Or in other words, high as two kites_. Well, it was better than any of Robb’s siblings or her own cousin. She didn’t think she was able to bear Sansa’s tearful sympathy or Arya’s and Sandor’s fury.

“Are you okay, Brienne?” Gilly asked gently, twisting around in the seat to look at her. She glanced at her husband, then back at Brienne. “Can we help you somehow?” Beside her, Sam nodded his agreement.

Brienne felt a flood of love for them. Sandor thought they were as thick as a pair of planks, but he thought that of everyone, bar his family and Sansa and maybe Arya. Brienne thought they were wonderful.

“Thank you,” she said, “but… no. There’s nothing to do. I’ve…” She searched for how to explain it without giving too many sordid details. The throbbing red mass of pain behind her breastbone was too much to share with anyone. “…had a disappointment in love,” she settled for saying at last, channeling Miss Olenna’s quaint turn of phrase.

Gilly’s sweet face creased in sympathy. “Jason?”

Brienne’s stomach twisted. _Jaime,_ she wanted to correct the other woman. _His name is Jaime._ But she only nodded.

“I’m sorry, Brienne.” Gilly reached back and squeezed her forearm, just a quick little press but the kindness and humanity of it was touching.

“ ‘M sawwy, too,” said Little Sam. He put out a hand and patted her other arm a few times. Then he patted Bruce, who’d climbed up into his car seat with him, and Edgar, who had shoehorned himself between the car seat and Brienne. “Sawwy, kitty. Sawwy, doggie.”

Brienne bit viciously down on her lip and turned her head to the window, fighting to keep her composure in front of these lovely people. “Thank you,” she whispered.

It was not long before they arrived at Robb’s place. He lived on the second floor of an old Victarian-era mansion that had been carved up into apartments. Theon rented the attic above him and Theon’s sister Yara the first floor, below. All three were on the front porch when Brienne extricated herself from the Tarly vehicle.

“Thank you again,” was all she had time to say before Grey Wind leaped onto her. She was dimly aware of the Tarlys driving off with a cheery _beep-beep_ of the horn as her face was bathed by an enthusiastic lupine tongue. Standing on his hind legs, the massive wolfdog was as tall as Brienne.

“Down, boy,” she commanded him, and he gave her one last kiss before deserting her to chase poor Bruce up a tree; they got along, but Grey Wind was a bit more excitable than Bruce was accustomed to, even after spending so much time with Juanita.

Miserable and embarrassed and heartsore, Brienne trudged up to the porch where Robb, Theon, and Yara all awaited her. They all held coffee mugs, but by the smell wafting from their general direction, it was not coffee that they were drinking.

 _Drunk_ _instead of high, then,_ Brienne thought _._ Inebriation sounded like a fine idea at that moment.

“Sorry we weren’t able to come, ourselves, but we got the job done,” said Robb. He waved a hand in the air to divert the flow of smoke into his face from both Greyjoys siblings’ enthusiastic puffing. “So what happened?”

“Hey, wait, first things first,” interjected Theon. He held his mug out to Brienne. She was on the verge of refusing— the mug was grimy and knowing Theon held a myriad of contagious things but… what the hell, why not? The scotch— or possibly it was whisky— would kill the germs, and maybe being drunk would make her feel less terrible. She took the mug and poured its contents straight down her throat.

“Thanks,” she said, handing the empty mug back to Theon, and sat next to Robb on the rickety old porch swing.

“ _Now_ will you tell us what’s going on?” Robb persisted.

Yara squinted at her through the haze of smoke like she was reading Brienne’s fortune and intoned, “Man trouble.”

“What would you know about it?” Theon teased.

“Just because I don’t fuck men doesn’t mean I can’t tell when other women do,” she shot back. “I know what to look for.” Pointedly ignoring her brother, she met Brienne’s eyes. “What did he do?”

Brienne stared down at where she’d knotted her fingers in her lap. “Lied.”

“Asshole,” Robb muttered. He sucked down a drag from the joint and passed it to Yara. “Married? Gay after all?”

“Bastards and baby-mamas from Sunspear to Bear Island?” contributed Theon, flat on his back on the porch. Bruce hazarded to come down from the tree and lay across his bony chest. Theon accommodated him with a scritch between the ears.

“On the lam?” piped up Yara. “Wanted in every kingdom for blackmail, extortion, coercion, murder?”

By that point, the booze had worked its magic. Brienne felt like she was melting into the porch swing and let herself list to starboard, leaning against Robb. The warmth of him against her side was comforting, and the fuzzy clouds in her head promised distance and numbness.

“None of those,” she mumbled. “He lied about who he is. His identity.”

Theon frowned, confused. “Why? Is he running from tax evasion charges or something?”

“To distance himself from his family, he said.”

“His family must be complete shit, to go through that kind of effort,” said Robb, laughing. “What is he, a Lannister?”

Theon and Yara laughed, too. But Brienne did not laugh, and when they noticed, when they saw the expression on her face, they all sobered.

“He’s a _Lannister_?” Robb said, incredulous, eyes bugging out. “Which one? Only a cousin, I hope?”

“Jaime,” she said softly, her mouth shaping the unfamiliar syllables. “Jaime Lannister.”

“He’s the one who was hurt in that mine collapse, isn’t he?” Yara asked. “Has that sister. The horrible one.”

“His father is awful, too, based on how Robb’s father rants about him,” Theon said helpfully, then added. “Tyrion’s not bad, though. Man can hold his liquor. And that’s _me_ saying it.”

Their casual mention of Jaime’s situation was at such odds with Brienne’s knowledge on the other side of it, how he had suffered not only the injury of losing his hand but his family’s treatment, that she felt woozy. Or, no, that was the whisky. She should definitely not have any more of it.

“We’re out of whisky,” said Yara, standing as she addressed Brienne. “You should definitely have more.”

“Okay,” said Brienne. So much for her better nature being in control; apparently when she hurt this badly, her need for oblivion had the keys and it wasn’t letting anyone else drive. She was much better already; why didn’t she drink more often?

They gathered the animals and trooped upstairs to Yara’s flat. It was the best-appointed of the three apartments in the old Victarian house, with plants and throw pillows and, to Yara’s great amusement when she mentioned it, a carpet that matched the drapes.

With a flourish, their hostess made her unsteady way to a rickety bar cart. She picked through the selection until she found what she considered to be ideal for their purposes and wobbled back to where the others had sprawled across her charmingly mismatched furniture.

“So,” she said, “you have a choice. If you’re feeling mellow and just want to continue in that vein, there’s more whisky. If you’re feeling adventurous, there’s tequila. Or, if you hate your liver, there’s this vicious Wildling vodka I picked up on my last trip to Hardhome. They make it from parsnips or something. I spilled some on the coffee table last week and it stripped half the paint off.”

Yara pointed to where the coffee table had in fact been partially denuded of its charmingly rustic finish.

“I like my liver,” Brienne said. “And I’ve been adventurous enough already this weekend. Give me the good old predictable one.”

Theon ambled from the kitchen with a fresh mug, which featured a photo of a dachshund puppy and the words ‘I love tiny wieners!’. Brienne glugged a healthy measure of whisky into it and drank deep.

“What’re you going to do?” asked Robb, sounding a bit unraveled around the edges; he’d opted for the parsnip vodka and Brienne was almost able to see a tiny bird flying in circles over his head, tweeting madly. Though that could be because of the whisky, too…

“I dunno,” she answered. “Can I stay here and think it over? Don’t want to go back tonight. Or ever. Though I know I have to. Eventually. But not tonight.” She squinted blearily at the other three. “Not tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” said Theon, even though they were in Yara’s apartment and she was Robb’s friend. It seemed he was their appointed spokesperson. “Y’can stay as long as you like.”

Another cigarette clamped between yellowed middle and forefingers, trailing smoke in his wake, he slumped onto the sofa next to her, displacing Bruce, and slung an arm around her. He was so skinny it was like being embraced by a biology class skeleton. The mental image made Brienne want to giggle, but her miserable state kept the giggle from working its way out of her.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, a welcome flood of affection for them overwhelming her misery. “You’re the best. I mean it! I don’t know what I’d do without you. I love you guys!”

Ah, that was why Brienne rarely imbibed; she was an affectionate, emotional drunk and invariably ended up humiliating herself by either proclaiming her devotion far and wide or weeping uncontrollably. Brienne gulped the last of her whisky; perhaps she would be able to pass out before the sobbing got started.

“Where can I crash?” she mumbled. “Wanna get some sleep. Gotta work tomorrow.”

“Nahhhhh,” said Robb from where he was curled into a tattered wing chair, fending off Grey Wind’s attempts to be a lap dog. “Take the day off. Take the week off, in fact. _Broken hearts need time to_ _heal_ …” he began singing, trailing off while gazing into space.

“Those parsnips pack a powerful punch,” Yara said with the exaggerated care of the soused, popping the p’s each time.

“A whole week?” Brienne couldn’t possibly leave him alone at the clinic for five days. “No way, you’ll be swamped—”

“Sansa’s got a friend who just gradiated from vet school. Jeyne Something. Sansa’s been on me to hire her as third vet for a while now. I’ll have her in. You—” he waved his hand around. “You take all the time your poor broken heart needs to heal.”

 _Aaaand cue the tears._ Robb was such a good friend, the _best_ of friends… Brienne lurched to her feet. “So where am I staying?”

Yara led her to a spare room. The bed was small but Brienne didn’t much care; she fell across it diagonally, feet hanging off the corner, and fell promptly asleep.

She was woken at an unknown point later by raised voices: Sansa’s fluting alto punctuated by the deep bass rumble of her cousin. Bruce and Edgar had found their way into the room and curled up on the bed with her, one to each side.

“I don’t care that she swore you to secrecy!” Sansa was exclaiming. “You can’t just ask us to bring over some of Sandor’s clothes for Brienne to wear and not tell us what’s going on!”

 _Oh, hells._ Robb had decided Brienne would need something to change into but his thought processes were often lacking when he was drunk; he remembered she didn’t want his sister and her cousin to know what happened, but… there was no way Sansa and Sandor could be _partially_ involved. They’d want to know the whole sordid affair.

Brienne buried her face in the pillow and groaned. She was still quite drunk but about to approach the point where she had a very important decision to make: drink more, thus postponing the inevitable hangover, or take steps to avoid the hangover entirely? Either option called for her peeling herself off the bed, and while small, it was insidiously comfortable and she was loath to leave it.

The question was solved for her when the door opened. Heavy footsteps announced the newcomer; considerable weight depressed the mattress and her cousin sat down, forcing Bruce to move elsewhere with an indignant mew.

“What do you need?” asked Sandor.

The offer stood for the entire wide gamut of what he was able to provide. She could request more alcohol, or a bucket of cold water to drink and a bottle of aspirin, or Jaime’s head on a gilded platter, and it would come to pass. Brienne chose her next words carefully.

“Only something to sleep in and a change of clothes for tomorrow,” she muttered, face turned to the side, cheek smooshed into the pillow.

“Okay.” He didn’t say anything else, however, remaining silent for so long that Brienne nearly fell asleep again. But then he spoke again.

“Hey,” he said. “Do I gotta kill anyone?”

“It’s very nice of you to offer,” she said politely into the pillow. “But no.” A wave of affection rose within her again, courtesy of the whisky. “You’re the best cousin anyone ever had—”

“Fuck’s sake.”

“—and I don’t know how I can thank you—”

“All we did was run across town with a t-shirt and sweatpants,” said Sansa from the door. She quickly continued, “Though if you wanted to thank us, you could tell us what the heck this is all about.”

Brienne flopped her head around on the pillow so she was able to see the other woman. Sansa stood in the doorway, looking concerned, almost vibrating from curiosity.

“Soon,” Brienne mumbled. “I’ll tell you… soon. When I can talk about it.” Sandor tensed, though he said nothing. He trusted her to speak up if something so heinous had occurred that he’d need to get bloody about it.

“We’ll go to your place in the morning. Feed the lizards and Jackson,” he told her gruffly.

He was wonderful. “You’re amazing, Sandor, and you too, Sansa, and I love you so much, you’re the _best_ and—”

“Bugger that!” he exclaimed, almost leaping from his seat on the edge of the bed in his haste to flee from the taint of squishy emotions. He slipped past Sansa with the odd dexterity of her entire family despite their size, and then the women were alone.

Sansa came to take her boyfriend’s place at Brienne’s side. “Are you sure there’s nothing we can do?” she asked quietly. “You can come stay with us, if you want— the animals too, of course—”

“Nah, I’m good,” Brienne slurred, longing for another drink. Her heart seemed to want to remain intoxicated, and damn the consequences. She could deal with the hangover tomorrow. Right now, the anguish of such an abrupt shift from enraptured bliss to cruel reality was dulled with the liberal application of cheap whisky and she was keen to keep that trend going.

“I mean, I’m awful, or I wouldn’t be… like this,” she continued. “But I’ll live.”

Sansa didn’t reply, merely stroked Brienne’s hair, and soon the room was filled with the sound of faint drunken snoring.

~*~

Brienne woke again after a few hours. This time, the house was quiet and still, and a nascent headache was starting behind her eyes. She heaved herself off the bed, trying not to wake the animals. Edgar kept sleeping, his breathy wheezing making his whiskers flutter, but Bruce lifted his head and fixed her with a baleful stare.

The cat followed her to the bathroom, rubbing against her ankles as Brienne spotted a little toiletry kit. undoubtedly left for her by Sansa. It was a little enameled pail with a fat bow tied around it. Inside, a travel toothbrush, mini toothpaste, sample packets of shampoo and conditioner, and a little bar of soap had been carefully arranged. There was even a tiny tube of moisturizer; Sansa was always worried about Brienne’s dry skin.

She bit her lip until the urge to weep at her friend’s kindness went away before washing her face and brushing her teeth. She longed for a shower but didn’t want the noise of the running water to wake Yara. It could wait until morning.

She felt better, cleaner, but her head was starting to throb in earnest so she rummaged through the pail and— yes, Sansa had not failed her. At the bottom was a little bottle of ibuprofen.  Brienne gratefully shook two into her palm, downing them with a half-dozen gulps from the bitty paper cups by the faucet.

She wandered out to the living room, where Theon was sprawled across the sofa, unconscious or perhaps dead. Hard to tell. Either way, she covered him with one of the tattered afghans heaped about the room, then took a second one for herself and slipped out the front door with Bruce at her heels.

Outside was perfectly clear, the moon and stars so bright even the light pollution of King’s Landing unable to dim them. It was cool, autumn finally making itself known. Seemed fitting, since her relationship with Jason had burst to life in the spring and grown with the summer’s heat, that it would now grind to a half and pitch downward at a steep trajectory. She wrapped the afghan around her shoulders and sat on the porch swing where Yara had been ensconced earlier. Bruce hopped into her lap and she let him snuggle under the drape of the blanket with her, nothing but his orange-striped head peeking out. With an absent scritch to his butt, she let her mind wander.

Her brain seemed to be playing on two separate tracks. One was a looping reel of her interactions with Jason, searching for hints as to his duplicity. Now that she knew what to look for she felt incredibly stupid, because there were plenty of those hints to be found in how he and Miss Olenna and Addam had stumbled over his name, and the cagey way he avoided giving any identifying facts about his family even as he revealed the most intimate details of his life.

He hadn’t been holding back the revelation of how he’d lost his hand out of any lingering emotional trauma, as she’d thought. No, he had refrained from telling her because it would have peeled back the layers of dishonesty he’d stacked on top of his identity, and divulged the whole wretched truth. Brienne thought of how she’d wasted her sympathy on him, how her heart had squeezed to think of how he still suffered from the amputation experience, and a surge of angry nausea— or perhaps nauseated anger— rose in her belly.

The other track was rummaging through her emotional resources to decide what to do next. The idea of continuing to live next door to Jaime made her enraged and hurt and sorrowful, all at the same time. It wasn’t even the risk of seeing him, which was pretty high, but the proximity to him that made everything in her rebel and strain to flee.

What she wasn’t able to figure out was whether she wanted so desperately to flee because she couldn’t bear being close to him, or because of the worryingly real chance she’d fling her upset and objections to the winds. That she’d accept his apology and take up with him again, as if nothing had been wrong— as if she could walk the animals with him and have dinner and hold and kiss him— as if he hadn’t lied so grievously to her, misleading her, abusing the trust she’d placed in him, so rapturously in love that she’d opened herself completely, given all of herself to him in total faith—

Bruce gave a little _meep_ sound, glancing up at her with disgruntlement, and Brienne realized she was crying on him, her tears dripping onto his head. She apologized and used a corner of the afghan to blot his damp fur.

What had she said to Sansa, at the very beginning? Before she’d even met Jaime? “I’m a three at best. Threes don’t get tens. Threes barely get sixes, and then only if the sixes have _issues_.” She should have realized that if a thirty-eight like Jaime was interested in her, he’d have to have the mack daddy of all issues.

Maybe this was all her own fault. If she’d been thinking with her head instead of her heart— and with something about a foot or so lower than her heart, if she were being honest— she’d have realized right away that something was wrong. That there was a fly in the ointment, that there was no way a man with his looks and wealth could also be emotionally sound.

But no, she’d skipped merrily into a huge messy puddle of love, entranced by his charm and humor and sweetness and loving gentleness and— Brienne choked off that train of thought, lest she focus on his positives at the expense of the negatives. _No dick is worth your_ _self-respect_ , she was almost able to hear Arya snapping at her, and Brienne despised the part of her that whispered, _His is_.

Not _only_ his dick, of course— though that was probably pretty worth it all on its own— but the rest of him as well: his quick mind, his big heart… and, yes, that dick. Brienne hadn’t enjoyed a wide variety of them, in her sexual life, but from the modest pool of her experience, she could say that it was an extraordinary one. If presented with that deal— _your self-respect and the ability to trust him in exchange for a gorgeous, kind, loving, generous, wealthy, big-dicked lover_ — a lot of women— _most_ women, in fact— would trample her to get to him.

Was she being unreasonable? Was she passing up the opportunity of a lifetime, merely for the sake of principles that were probably outdated and pointless? Was honesty and trust all that important? You couldn’t share your life, your heart and body and soul, with honesty and trust. They were chilly bedfellows, all told.

But they were bedfellows she was able to live with. Brienne sighed in resignation. Even if she managed to ignore her conscience and went back to Jaime, it wouldn’t be with forgiveness. She knew she’d never be able to manage that. It would ferment and bubble in her gut, and eventually she wouldn’t be able to ignore it. She would give in to the stress of always wondering what he was lying about, how much she could actually trust him, when another lie was going to rear its ugly head and wreak havoc over her life once more. There was no way she could spend her life waiting for that other shoe to drop. She’d go insane. She’d grow to hate him, and herself, and any children they might have—

 _No._ She refused to let herself dream that dream again, the thoughts of a baby with Jason— Jaime— fading into bitter ghosts. Gods, it wasn’t only the death of their relationship that was killing her, it was the death of the hopes she’d let herself foster, of a future with Jason, a home and family together. She’d scarcely ever let herself consider those things within her reach, should have known better. The moment she had, _the very moment_ , it all fell apart in the most awful way possible.

Yes, this was all her own fault. She should have known it was not possible for her. Her decision to give up on men had been spot-on, and she should have stuck with it, but no. At the first sign of the perfect man, she’d blithely tossed that commitment over her shoulder and never looked back. What happened had been a cruel lesson, but she’d needed that cruelty to finally get it to stick. She was a slow pupil, but eventually she did learn.

All Brienne could do was move forward. She had to figure out what she was doing with herself, where she was going. She couldn’t stay with Robb and/or Theon and/or Yara forever, though if she asked, they’d only shrug and nod and that would be it. The rest of the Starks would be just as generous with their homes; she could crash with Sandor and Sansa or Arya and Gendry, or even Catelyn and Ned, if she were willing to let herself be mothered and fathered by them.

Gods, their reaction to learning what Jaime had done would be… furious, outraged, unsurprised. She could almost hear them, their voices raised in a clamor, singing to the world of the myriad evils of a Lannister.

Her head throbbed again and she considered going back inside to get another pill. And her bare feet were cold on the chilly porch floorboards; should she go fetch her shoes? Brienne couldn’t bring herself to care. She gave an apathetic push with her toes, setting the swing in motion, but it squeaked loudly enough to make her stop right away, fearing to wake the others.

Time slipped away as she sat there. When the ibuprofen finally worked its magic and her headache faded, she went back to bed. She’d come up with exactly no ideas for how to proceed. Edgar snuffled at her ear before collapsing onto her shoulder with a sigh. Bruce curled up against her waist. Brienne stared up at the dark-shadowed ceiling overhead until she fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Brienne, honesty and trust are fundamental aspects of her character and personality. She'd struggle to deal with anyone she knew to be a liar; to have to cope with it in the person she'd come to love so deeply is absolutely earth-shaking to her, especially when there's such a vocal part of her wanting to excuse his lies in order to regain what they'd had that single weekend of bliss. 
> 
> So... give Brienne a break, while she tries to wrap her mind around what has happened, how she feels, what she's able to process and how long it takes her to do it :D


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who defended Team Brienne. I think both sides have merit! I'm just glad you guys care enough to actually put thought into which side you're on :D
> 
> You might notice I've amended the number of chapters, from 18 to 20. Turns out B and J had more they wanted to say and do. Unlike SOME PEOPLE I COULD MENTION, I don't cram a longer story into fewer sections by cutting out important details and doing stupid things to save on the CGI budget and *deep breath* so yeah, 2 more chapters. 
> 
> Hope you like this chapter. Make sure you thank my beta, sea_spirit, by reading [her wonderful story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15966284)!

.

~*~

.

The next morning, Brienne woke up to a vacant apartment; somehow, despite the sheer quantity of cheap hooch imbibed by Robb and the Greyjoy siblings, they’d all been well enough to hie themselves to their respective jobs.

Brienne, on the other hand, felt as if she’d died, been buried, and then dug up again. A wary glance in the bathroom mirror confirmed that she looked awful. She gulped water and more ibuprofen before standing under the shower until the water ran cold and drove her out, yelping at the frigid temperature. Dressed in the sweatpants and t-shirt Sandor and Sansa had brought over the prior night, she raked her fingers through her hair and called it combed.

She was just about to step out the door when she realized she had no way to get home... or anywhere else, for that matter. Ordinarily, she’d take the subway or a bus but with a cat and a dog, that wouldn’t be possible. She could walk, but Robb lived on the far side of the city. It would take her hours.

Then she remembered KingsRide and hurriedly opened the app; had she inputted her credit card details the last time she’d used it? Yes, she had. She engaged one and texted the driver about the animals; it took her three tries, but finally she found one who not only did not mind her bringing a cat and a dog, but who was delighted about it and eager to meet them.

The driver ended up being an older man who had Edgar sit up front with him, talking to both the dog and Bruce in such loving tones that Brienne found herself wondering if she should offer one or the both of them to him for adoption. A glimpse at his tag on the dashboard said his name was Davos.

She couldn’t bring all the critters with her, wherever she ended up going, and… she had to go, didn’t she? How would she be able to remain living next door to Jaime? The stressful suspense of always worrying if she were going to see him, every time she stepped out of her apartment, would swiftly give her a nervous condition.

No, at some point during her shower, she’d decided she had to leave, start over somewhere fresh, where she’d never been before. Maybe the Vale? Dorne? Why not leave Westeros entirely? She could go to Pentos or Lorath… Braavos… she could go anywhere.

Upon arrival at the apartment building, Brienne stepped out onto the sidewalk and squinted into the bright sunlight. She hoped desperately she’d be able to make it into her apartment without bumping into Jaime. But when she arrived at her door, it was to realize that she didn’t have her keys and wasn’t able to get in.

_Ah!_ But she had given Miss Olenna a spare key a year earlier, in case of emergency. Almost drooping in relief that she did not have to ask Jaime for her keys and anything else she’d left there in her panicked flight, she tiptoed to the door opposite Jaime’s and gave the world’s quietest knock.

When that did not summon anyone, she was forced to knock louder, and louder again, each time wincing and praying Jaime was in his office at the back of his apartment and couldn’t hear her.

That third, loudest rap on the door did the trick, and before long Miss Olenna was swinging it wide in response.

“Ah, Brienne—” she began, but with a jittery glance over her shoulder at Jaime’s still-closed door, Brienne interrupted in a whisper.

“Can I come in? Right now? Quickly?”

Olenna’s faded brown eyes sharpened. She gave one hard nod and stepped back, letting Brienne bolt inside, Bruce and Edgar on her heels. Only when the door was safely closed behind her did she let out a relieved breath.

“I need the key I gave you,” she said.

“Oh?” said Olenna, her tone light but challenging. “What happened to your key?” She ran a discerning glance over Brienne’s outfit. “And what are you _wearing_? Even for you, this is…”

Brienne opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The conversation she’d had with the other woman, about how out-of-her-league Jason— _Jaime_ — was, how ruthless his family was able to be in satisfying their appetite, and most of all, Olenna’s warning.

_Be careful with your heart,_ Olenna had said. _If there’s a man on the planet who can crush it, it’s him._

And so he had.

“It’s a long story,” Brienne managed to say, trying to smile, aware it was a ghastly facsimile and giving up on the attempt. “I’ll tell you… another time.”

Olenna speared her with a shrewd look, frankly skeptical, but nodded. She turned to a graceful mahogany console table, opened the central drawer, withdrew the key, and handed it over without a word.

“Thank you,” said Brienne. For the key, for not asking more questions. “I’ll bring it back. Eventually.”

Olenna gave her a considering nod before opening the door. Edgar held out his paw for a farewell shake, which Olenna ignored to usher them all out. Brienne hurried to her apartment, for once unappreciative of its cheery paint job, the Tarth sigil failing to lift her spirits as it usually did. She tried to be quick in unlocking it but her jangling nerves had her fingers fumbling it. No sooner had Olenna’s door clicked shut than Brienne heard another one— Jaime’s— open. A frisson of dismay rolled down her spine.

“Brienne,” he said, and it sent a cascade of goosebumps over her skin. The warmth in his voice, the love, the pain… she redoubled her efforts with the key and she sent up a prayer to whichever of the Seven might hear her plea to help her work the damned thing.

Finally, blessedly, she managed to get the key into the lock. She twisted it open, shoved the door wide, lunged through, and— had to stop and wait, because Edgar was holding up a paw for Jaime to shake, and Bruce was climbing up his legs, mewing persistent demands for affection.

Jaime stooped to shake Edgar’s paw— “Nice to meet you again,” he told the dog, as always— and let the cat scramble into his embrace. Brienne’s heart clenched at the sight of him, even more handsome now that she’d made love to him and knew what that experience was like, how she’d given herself to him, with full trust and adoration, not knowing that—

Her throat closed up like a fist at the unwelcome thought, for at least the hundredth time since Tyrion’s appearance the previous night, that she’d shared every scrap of herself with either a man who didn’t exist, or a man who had lied to her and lied to her and lied to her. The nausea she felt at the idea rushed back, as it had those other ninety-nine times, and she gulped at the sudden flood of saliva in her mouth.

“Edgar,” she rasped. “Bruce. Come— come in.”

Jaime looked away from Edgar to her, and the full force of him— his beauty, his anguish, his longing, was so evident that she staggered back a step. She wanted to crash into him, to batter him with her love and rage, to make him as confused and desperate as she was.

“Brienne,” Jaime said. His voice thrummed with emotion, reaching out to tempt and coax her willpower into laying down and showing its belly. “ _Please_. Let me—”

“Edgar,” Brienne said again, her voice thin, panicked. “Bruce. Come inside.”

The animals turned from Jaime, perplexity clear on their furry faces; they’d never heard her speak like that before. _She_ had never heard herself speak like that before. They left him and she began to close the door, but even then, she wasn’t able to stop staring at Jaime, her gaze fastened to him in the narrowing space between door and jamb. And damn her if she didn’t feel bad at his expression of misery at her rejection, bad and guilty and cruel to be hurting him so.

Finally the door was shut, a solid barrier between them, and she could breathe once more. But she knew he was still there, just a few feet away, and the impulse to burst back into the hall and fling herself at him was so strong that she had to wrench herself away.

_Think of something else,_ she told herself miserably. _Anything else._

“Bugger that!” exclaimed Jackson Polly. He’d been screeching from the moment she opened the door, as per usual, but she’d been deaf to it while in the thick of coping with seeing Jaime. “Fuck’s sake!”

_Oh, thank the gods._ Dealing with the parrot and lizards would distract her, at least for a few minutes. Brienne let Jackson roam free, and put the bearded dragons in the tub, and emptied the parrot cage and lizard tank, scrubbing them furiously before refurbishing them with painstaking care. Once the dragons were ensconced upon their heated rock once more, and Jackson was happily gnawing on half a peach, she turned to the rest of the apartment. She methodically tore it apart, cleaning as if she’d be graded on its condition, refolding the linens and rearranging her skimpy pantry, scrubbing out the fridge and discarding half-empty bottles of condiments she’d never use.

When she was done, the sun was setting, she hadn’t eaten all day, and the apartment was echoingly, cavernously empty. Two bags of trash sat by the back door, ready to be hauled to the garbage chute, and three more squatted by the front in readiness to be donated to a worthy charity.

She stood in front of her refrigerator, peered into its depths in hopes of finding something for dinner. There was fruit and nuts, but those were for Jackson, so her choice was between a jar of shriveled, ancient maraschino cherries or stale peanut butter on even-more-stale graham crackers, _yum_ — when there was a knock on the door.

Alarm ricocheted through her. She did not want to talk to Jaime again— ever— but it was just like him to be so persistent. She looked through the spyhole, expecting to be buffeted by his golden handsomeness, and found a swarthy stranger there instead, barely tall enough for his face to be seen. Frowning in confusion, she swung open the door.

The stranger promptly held up a plastic bag, through which she could see the silhouette of several cartons, all of them emitting fragrant wafts of deliciousness.

“You Brienne?” the man asked with a faint Essosi— Pentoshi?— accent. At her nod, he held the bag out to her. “Someone called in this order for you.”

“Who?” She forced the word through stiff lips. If it were Jaime, there was no way she’d be able to accept it.

“Uh…” He squinted down at the receipt in his other hand. “A… Sandor?”

Brienne went limp against the door jamb in relief. Oh, she loved her cousin. He was the best of men. She accepted the bag of food, scribbled her name on the receipt to prove she’d been served, and slumped back against the closed door when he departed. At least this was one thing she didn’t have to worry about. She placed the bag on the counter, found her phone, and sent a lavishly grateful text to Sandor.

His entire response: a thumbs-up emoticon.

Even this typically taciturn answer did not dampen her affection; she smiled for the first time that day, got out a fork, and dug in.

When she was full, she offered a bit to Edgar and Bruce. Edgar wolfed down his portion, of course, but Bruce gave a dainty nibble before shuddering; apparently honey duck with orange snap peppers, and mushrooms in butter and garlic, were not to his taste.

She stowed the leftovers in the near-empty fridge, then collapsed on the sofa, as wrung-out as an old rag. It was barely eight o’clock and she was ready for bed. And why not? What did she have to stay awake for? She stripped off Sandor’s borrowed clothes, by that point dirty and smudged from her cleaning frenzy, took a brief and apathetic shower, pulled on her softest pair of pajamas, and crawled into bed.

.

~*~

.

Brienne came awake slowly, feeling like she was swimming upward from an ocean of cotton wool. She’d been dreaming… she and Jason had been back on the yacht, but instead of returning to King’s Landing, they’d sailed to Essos, touring one city after another and never returning home. Jason never revealed his true identity, and Brienne spent the rest of her days in ignorant bliss with him. She bit back a powerful urge to weep and tried to figure out why she was no longer asleep.

She might have heard nothing, but the animals had. Edgar hopped off the bed and trotted from the room, followed soon by Bruce. Brienne figured she might as well investigate and had just placed her feet on the ground when there was a knock at the door. Anxiety tightened all her muscles as she glanced at her phone— it was just past two in the morning, who might possibly be knocking? Was something wrong with Olenna?

She rushed to the door and all the air whooshed from her lungs to see Jaime standing there, looking haggard and yet somehow still so handsome, even when barefoot and disheveled in running shorts and a t-shirt. She opened her mouth but he cut in before she was able to speak.

“Cersei’s in labor,” he said. “Do you want to— or I can find one of those emergency vets somewhere?”

It meant she’d have to spend time in his apartment with him. Hours. Part of her, a selfish and terrible part, wanted to tell him that yes, he should find an emergency vet, so she could keep her distance and go back to sleep, but her conscience— by far the more powerful— quashed it effortlessly.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course I’ll come. I just, I need—” She waved a vague hand at her sleep attire.

“I don’t care what you wear,” he said hoarsely, dull gaze traveling over her, and there was such yearning in it that she felt gripped in a vice, constrained and drawn inexorably toward him.

“I’ll be there soon,” she managed in response, and shut the door in his face. For long moments, she simply stood there, eyes closed, fists clenched, breathing deeply to bring herself some measure of composure.

_You can do this_ , she told herself. _You can do this._

She changed to her old painting clothes, holey jeans and a tattered t-shirt, before fetching her medical bag and a few of the ragged towels she’d been about to throw away— might as well get one more use out of them.

When she presented herself at Jaime’s apartment, she rapped on the door instead of walking right in as she’d become used to doing, and she could tell the change was sensed by Jaime just as much as herself when he answered it.

“Thank you for coming,” he said quietly, standing back to let her in.

Brienne walked past him to the far corner of the living room, where Cersei had apparently chosen to bring forth her litter. She was laying on her side in a spacious whelping crate, with thick quilted pads beneath her; trust Jason— _Jaime_ — to outfit the dog with top-of-the-line everything. Pod paced anxiously nearby, making distressed little whines.

Brienne knelt beside the crate and reached out a hand for the golden to sniff. Cersei’s sides heaved as she panted through a contraction and Brienne stroked her head, crooning what a good girl she was. A quick examination determined the dog was doing well and there were no complications thus far. Brienne stood and found Jaime watching her with that same gentle, loving expression she’d become used to, but with an overtone of sorrow.

She swallowed hard and turned away, going to the bathroom to wash up. When she returned, Jaime had seated himself beside the crate and was speaking encouragingly to Cersei in low tones. The dog whimpered, and strained, and Brienne hurried to kneel by her again, getting latex gloves from her bag and yanking them on.

“Here comes the first one,” she said, nudging Pod aside as he anxiously crowded closer. “Be ready with a towel.”

The puppy slid free, struggling weakly in the soft nest of a towel in Jaime’s hands as he caught it. Brienne made quick work of tying off the cord, then took the puppy from Jaime to let Cersei meet her— Brienne glanced between its hind legs— son. The dog gave the puppy an investigative sniff before starting to lick him.

The other seven came without problem, as well, each of them born into Jaime’s waiting hands, tended to, and placed by Cersei’s face so she was able to mother them. When it was over and the mess had been cleared away, they kept sitting on the living room floor, slumped wearily against opposite chairs.

Without the distraction of the puppies, she was intensely, acutely aware of her presence in Jaime’s home, of his presence so close to her. She wanted to leave, quite a lot, but she had to stay near the dog in case she needed help. Steadfastly, she kept her eyes on the ragged cuffs of her jeans, picking idly at a loose thread and praying he wouldn’t say anything.

Which was, of course, expecting the impossible; if there were one characteristic both Jason and Jaime had in common, it was being talkative.

“I was worried about you,” he said after a short while, when the silence threatened to smother them.

Brienne lifted her eyes from her knees to him. “Why?” she asked guardedly.

“Because of how you left.” His face, with pain drawing it tight, looked like something out of a medieval painting, apprehension and sorrow only making him more beautiful. “You were… you didn’t look like you knew where you were going.”

_I didn’t._ Her chest seemed banded in iron, unable to expand to take in enough air. “I was fine.”

“I know. I saw you get into the minivan—”

“What? How?” The only way he’d have known was— “Did you follow me?”

“Of course.” Jaime cast his eyes down, avoiding her gaze. “You were upset. You didn’t have anything with you. I couldn’t just let you run around the city like that. I was afraid you’d walk into traffic, or someone would try to mug you, and you didn’t have your ID or any money…”

_Oh, gods._ Even when she’d fled from him, even knowing she couldn’t bear to look at him, Jaime had been there, protecting her, keeping her safe.

The hurt part of her, the angry part, wanted to shout, _You have no right to worry about me! I was upset and mindless with grief because of you!_ But even in her fury, she knew how much it would hurt him, far worse than any physical blow she was able to deal, and she just could not do that to him.

But she couldn’t repress her urge to strike at him somehow… the same impulse she’d had earlier, to put her hands on him roughly, to show him just how much he’d hurt her, seized her. Brienne was able to move swiftly, when she wanted, and she wanted to at that moment. She shifted onto her knees and just… pounced, pushing him to his back and crouching over him. She knew she’d be ugly, looming, her face contorted by rage and hurt, and was pleased; _good, you deserve my ugliness, see if you can still love me now, still be so gentle when I push you around—_

But he just stared up at her, his eyes impossibly soft. She had to be hurting him, with her knee in his stomach and one hand wrapping his throat, but all he showed her was love. Slowly she shifted to straddle his hips, legs clamping his wrists to his sides, and against her backside Brienne could feel the insistent rise of his arousal. She lowered herself so their chests were aligned, her breasts— what there were of them— flattening against him.

Shifting slightly, she rubbed herself against him, unable to stifle a moan at the contact. It had been far, far too long since she’d been with him, the intervening hours seeming like years. They’d only had two days together— not even that, really— and already she craved him like an addict jonesing for their drug of choice.

Raising herself up a bit, she nuzzled her nose against his silken beard, before claiming his mouth in a searing kiss. His lips parted immediately for her onslaught, and his tongue came to war with hers almost before she was ready for it.

Dimly, Brienne realized he was struggling to free his arms and for a moment she toyed with the idea of fighting him, but it seemed wrong. Showing him she was angry was one thing; holding him down against his will was quite another. She sat up, relaxing her thighs, and immediately he reached up to haul her back down to him. Threading his hand into her hair, he locked her in place as he ravished her mouth once more.

But Brienne wasn’t entirely pleased with this turn of events; she clamped her mouth shut and would not open until he pressed his thumb into her cheek, forcing her lips to part.  He kissed her again, carnal and wet, and she couldn’t quite find it in herself to spite them both just for the sake of winning whatever battle she’d started.

_Time for that later_ , she thought hazily, and sighed against his mouth as his hand skimmed down her body. Fingers curled around the cheek of her ass, their tips stroking in feathery little touches along the cleft at the center of her body. Even through the denim of her jeans, the contact was electrifying and left her gasping into his mouth.

He rolled them, then, so he was on top, and tore his mouth from hers to wrench off her shirt and latch onto her nipple. He pulled on the sensitive flesh with his teeth, laving the tiny hurt before nipping it once more, just enough to make her whimper. Still between Brienne’s legs, he ground himself against her, the layers of their pants an infuriating barrier.

Brienne closed her eyes to the sensation of his mouth on her breast, the heat of him, and reveled in the sensations that coursed through her. His weight on her was heavy; he was a large man, strong from a lifetime of sports and exercise, and the weight of him on top of her was very welcome.

They parted only briefly, to get his shirt off. She smoothed her palms over his skin, as if the feel of him could be absorbed somehow into her own. The press of his erection against her was like a hot iron bar and she squirmed repeatedly against him, trying to encourage him to use it, but he seemed preoccupied with other things— such as his mouth traveling over her body, licking and kissing.

“Hurry,” she murmured, writhing against Jaime once more, lifting her hips so he was able to slide her jeans down. She tore at his shorts and his erection sprang free, long and so thick she wanted to cry for joy. “Yes,” she hissed, taking it in hand and giving it one firm stroke before moving to place it for his thrust.

He leaned on his elbows so he could frame her face with his big hands, holding her head immobile. Moonlight streamed through the big windows and in it his eyes glowed, utterly beguiling in their naked desire for her. She was entirely caught up in staring up at him, shadowed and mysterious in the darkness. She opened her mouth to speak, but he caught her bottom lip between his teeth and tugged. Whimpering, she arched under him, and with a groan, he finally capitulated and sank into her.

“Oh, _gods_ ,” Brienne gasped. Every time— every single time— was magnificent, the solid length of him within her, perfection.

“So hot,” he whispered, pulling out and then thrusting in deep, beginning a seductive rhythm. “I love you. Nothing is like this… so good, Brienne. Nothing. Love you.”

She was not so far gone in him that she had forgotten her pain, her fury, her loss. It took everything she had to bite back the same words in return, her heart wanting to cry out its love to him, but… how? How could she love someone who had deceived her for so long? She shouldn’t even be having sex with him, but—

He angled a stroke in such a way that her legs curled, and her toes, and her back curved into a high arch to try and maneuver him into that angle again. She despised her weakness, but how could she pass this up? One last time to fuck the man she loved, even though she hated him, she _did,_  the hate was rushing through her veins like fire, was making her shout, he needed to know how she loathed him, the _world_ had to know—

“Yes,” he groaned, “I love you, too… love you so much, Brienne, _please_ — Brienne, don’t— gods— _love_ you, yes—”

They shook against each other for long moments, their voices echoing harshly off the walls as they cried out, heat flowing in eddies and waves between them. Their gazes latched, locked irrevocably on each other, blue meeting green until the shuddering was over. Eventually the waves of pleasure receded, and she could no longer ignore that there was a breach between them and she didn’t know how it could be healed, or even if it should be.

He must have seen something in her face, because his blissful haze sharpened, fading to frustration and unhappiness. Averting his eyes, he levered himself off her to sit with knees drawn up and forearms resting on them. Brienne sat up and gathered her clothing, pulling it back on with hurried hands that still trembled in the aftermath of their lovemaking.

“You called me Jason again,” he said quietly. “When you came.”

Had she really? She hated that name now. Just the thought of it hearkened back to before the revelation, when all she knew was that she loved him, with no hint of deceit on the horizon. Those days shone in her memory brightly enough to blind her, the pain stabbing all the way to the heart of her.

It took her a long time to react. When she glanced to him at last, he was still staring down at the floor, but looked up to meet her eyes.

“Is there no way you can accept that he is me? That I am him? We’re the same person. Everything I told you was the gods’ honest truth, Brienne. The only thing that wasn’t, was my name. That’s it. How I was raised, how my father and sister treated me after I lost my hand… how they’ve treated Tyrion his entire life… that’s all true. You can ask him. He’ll back me up.”

Sitting there in grubby clothes, her t-shirt spattered with amniotic fluid and blood, and Jaime’s semen a growing pool in her jeans as it seeped from her, Brienne felt sordid and weary, her body one big ache of confusion and pain. The fact that they hadn’t used a condom generated only a moment’s exhausted acceptance and a mental note to pick up a Plan B pill at the pharmacy at the soonest opportunity.

“Telling the truth about everything else doesn’t erase the lie,” she said tiredly, managing a last perusal of Cersei in her blanket-lined crate a few feet away. Pod was curled close around her and their puppies were eagerly feeding while their mother panted serenely, satisfied with her night’s hard work.

Brienne heaved herself off the floor and onto the sofa, flopping gracelessly onto her side. “I’m going to sleep here tonight so I’m close if she needs me.” Her eyes were closing, fatigue rising in a swell and slurring her words.

He didn’t reply, but dimly she felt something soft and warm being drawn over her, and the lock of hair that had flopped over her eyes was brushed away with a gentle finger.

_Quit making it so hard to stop loving you_ was her last coherent thought, but not even her resentment was enough to keep her from tumbling into sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's (hopefully) another scrap of something to elevate our spirits after D&D yeeted all our hopes and dreams into the crapper.
> 
> I'm also publishing two other stories that might cheer you up, as well: [Wanted](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18468466) and [A Torch, Carried](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11633103). Torch in particular is a re-write of season 7 that you might enjoy. Check them out, won't you?
> 
> Thanks to the delightful and delovely [sea_spirit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sea_spirit/pseuds/sea_spirit) for betaing.

.

~*~

.

The next morning, she woke to something cold and wet on her check: Pod, giving her an investigative nudge with his nose. She’d have been touched but she knew it had more to do with his empty stomach and full bladder than anything else.

She heaved herself upright, the blanket Jaime had pulled over her falling to her waist, and she sighed before wearily getting to her feet. She checked on Cersei and the puppies and was relieved to find them all well and thriving. The puppies squirmed in her hands, creeping about with closed eyes and mewling when she set them back down in the whelping box. She tried to muster something more than professional interest in them but mostly she just felt blank, empty, and tired.

“Sorry, boy,” she whispered to Pod when he gazed up at her, hoping for scritches. “I have to— I have to go.”

Brienne slunk out the door, taking care to make as little noise as possible, and only breathed again once she was safely within her own apartment. She texted Sandor— _need someone to take the animals_ — and began packing.

In lieu of a response, Sandor arrived at her apartment with various Starks and Stark-adjacent persons in tow: Sansa, of course, and Arya, and where Arya went Gendry followed, and Jon and his girlfriend.

 _Just what I need,_ Brienne groused to herself even as she forced a smile. _A moon goddess, too_. If she didn’t feel like a hideous giant before, being surrounded by the three other women was like a bouquet of flowers with a big bunch of poison ivy stuck right in the center.

But the moon goddess was there because she had an interest in bearded dragons and was keen to take them while Brienne was away.

“And if it goes well, I could adopt them?” Dany said hopefully, gazing up at Brienne with limpid violet eyes.

“Yes,” she replied. “Yes, of course.” She was rewarded with a beaming smile. Even Jon permitted his lips to turn up, nodding in gratitude as he carried the lizards’ tank out of the apartment.

Arya and Gendry took Bruce. “You’re a beautiful little killer, aren’t you?” Arya cooed happily while Gendry rolled his eyes. “We’re gonna get every one of those mice, aren’t we? Yes, we are. Yes.”

Bruce eyed her with more than a little suspicion, but took her attention as his due, and condescended to let her carry him away.

“We’ll take Jackson,” said Sansa, unable to hide a grin. “Sandor’s been itching to teach him something new.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Brienne sighed, making her cousin give a rare bark of laughter.

They drove her and Edgar to the train station, Sansa hugging her fiercely and even Sandor going so far as to place a hand on her shoulder. For him, that was a wailing, tear-filled farewell and Brienne looked at him in concern.

“He’s fine,” Sansa said. “We’re just worried about you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Brienne insisted. “I’m always fine, eventually.” At their skeptical glances, she admitted, “This time might take a little longer, but… yeah. I’ll be fine.”

Sansa hugged her again and Sandor gave her shoulder another pat, freaking Brienne out even more. Honking drew their attention; he had blithely double-parked and other passengers and their rides were none too pleased about it.

“Sod off,” Sandor rumbled, the prelude to shouting, and Sansa gave Brienne a wide-eyed glance before stepping behind her boyfriend and starting to push him back toward his car.

“Byeeeeeee!” she called back over her shoulder as she shoved with futility at his massive frame to make him hurry.

Brienne gave a last wave, watching with amusement as Sansa finally got Sandor in the car, apologizing profusely to all in the vicinity. They drove off, to the relief of everyone else, and Brienne crouched down to put the ‘support animal’ vest on Edgar. She felt a little bad being dishonest, but she didn’t want to chance causing a fuss on the train by having a dog with her. There’d be no problem on the ferry from Storm’s End to Tarth, though; her Uncle Endrew was its captain and he never had a problem with pets accompanying their owners.

They wended their way through the station, finding and boarding the train. Edgar was as perfectly behaved as if he truly were a service dog, and Brienne gave him many scritches and even a treat from the stash she’d grabbed as she left the apartment. She tried to turn her mind in a more positive direction; she wasn’t fleeing Jaime and King’s Landing, she was merely going to have a little vacation in her hometown, visiting her family.

As the train pulled out of the city, she knew she hadn’t convinced herself in the slightest.

.

~*~

.

Arriving on Tarth felt— anticlimactic. Uncle Endrew bestowed upon her one of his famous bear hugs when she walked aboard with Edgar.

“Who’s this well-mannered fella?” he boomed upon Edgar offering a paw in introduction. “A pleasure to meet you, ser!” he told the dog, who grinned up at him in happiness.

“This is Edgar,” said Brienne, unable to keep from smiling despite how low she felt. She had missed her uncle, the ferry, Tarth. She’d worked the ferry one summer in her teens and knew every inch of it: every peel of the paint, every lick of rust upon a railing, every creak of a stair.

But there were a few new paint-peels, she saw as the journey progressed, more rust creeping along, and the stairs creaked more than she recalled. And Endrew’s hair was more silver than sandy-blond, now, his face more lined. Evenfall, when they hove into port, had built up considerably even in just the few years she’d been away. There was more traffic, and any empty lots had long since been built upon, new houses and shops sprouting up, disturbing the skyline and surroundings Brienne had been so accustomed to. She trudged slowly up the hill to her family’s home, increasingly weirded-out by how different everything was.

The carriage house she’d grown up in was the same, though; the same old-time siding, tempered by salt air and spray to a misty silver, punctuated every so often by the bright amber of a newly replaced shingle. The way her bedroom window squatted over the porch, so she could climb out and stare up at the stars and wonder what the future held for her. The huge old willow tree, its long branches trailing the ground. She and Galladon had spent hours swinging on those branches, pretending they were jungle dwellers, yodeling and beating their chests.

She climbed the front steps, avoiding the squeaky third stair in hopes of surprising everyone. Inside was the usual mismatched furniture, but the paneling had been painted a pale, cheery yellow, and the heavy tweed drapes had been replaced by long white cotton panels. And there were throw pillows.

Brienne could believe that her father and brother might have painted; it had been pretty gloomy, with all the dark wood. And if they were going for a brighter look, those hideous drapes would have had to go, too. But… throw pillows?

The back door, visible down the hallway and through the kitchen, banged open to reveal Galladon. He’d been crabbing, if the bucket in one hand, cooler in the other, and fish guts smeared all down his sweatshirt were any indication.

“Oh, hey, Bree,” he said as he disappeared from sight, presumably to the refrigerator or sink. His tone was both casual and unsurprised. She toed off her shoes, dumped her bag on the floor, and padded to the kitchen with Edgar at her heels.

Gal had shoved back his sleeves and was scrubbing up from hands to elbows. The smell of the sea was strong on him, and his pale hair was a tangled riot. The back of his neck was its usual ruddy, freckled tan. Brienne was swept with a powerful wave of affection and barely held herself back from tackling him.

“Hey, Gal,” she said instead, just as casual as she propped a hip against the counter, trying to count the squirming occupants of the bucket. “Good luck with the crabbing?”

“Nah,” he said. “But better than nothing.”

“Mhm,” agreed Brienne. “Where’s Dad?”

“Marina.”

Selwyn Tarth would be tending his little fleet of charter boats and dealing with customers until dark.

“Should I start dinner?” she asked.

“Crab cakes, mac and cheese, broccoli,” was his reply. “Gonna shower.”

“Okay.”

He departed for the upstairs bathroom and Brienne got to cooking, marveling as she did how easy it was to fall back into old habits. Gal was even more laconic than Sandor, and that was saying something. It was immensely soothing, though, and she felt a warm rush of pleasure, of security, of belonging as she measured and boiled and stirred and formed and steamed dinner into being.

The back door flew open again and Brienne spun around at the sudden noise. Selwyn Tarth stepped inside, already talking.

“Miz Roelle said she saw you walk off the ferry,” he exclaimed, coming forward with arms outstretched. “You trying to kill your old father with surprise? Why didn’t you call? Did you see Gal already?”

Brienne folded herself into his embrace with a sense of relief so profound she had to blink back tears.

“I thought it would be a good surprise,” she said. “And yes. He’s showering.” She gestured at the ingredient-laden counter. “I got started on dinner.”

“Those are some puny crab cakes,” Selwyn commented, but the twinkle in his eye said he didn’t care.

“Take it up with your son,” Brienne said airily. “He’s the one who only managed to catch a half-dozen crabs.”

“…see _you_ do better,” Gal muttered as he entered the kitchen in jeans and sweatshirt identical to the ones he’d worn before, only without the fish guts. Selwyn gave him a slap to the shoulder, grinning.

“Did you know Bree was coming?” he asked his son.

“Nah,” was all Gal said, but how much more was needed? He went to where Brienne had been cooking and took over the job, his huge hands deft as he worked and his craggy, unhandsome face placid. Brienne had missed him terribly.

Selwyn washed up and joined his children in preparing the meal, and within a half-hour they were sitting down to eat.

“To what do we owe the visit?” Selwyn inquired after a few minutes of silent appreciation for the meal. His tone was light but his gaze, every bit as blue as Brienne’s own, was keen as he peered across dinner at her. Under the table, three pairs of large feet jockeyed for the limited space and ended up in a tangle, as it had been for two decades. “What happened?” he added gently, his familiarity with his daughter letting him see at a glance that something was wrong.

Brienne swallowed the mouthful of macaroni and cheese that had just lodged in her throat.

“Man trouble,” she said, striving for a similar lightness of tone… but missing. By far.

“Do we have to kill somebody?” asked Gal, looking up from his plate, an echo of Sandor’s identical bloodthirsty offer.

Again, Brienne refused. “No,” she said. “I just needed…” She trailed off, knowing her family would understand, and they did. Gal nodded and resumed shoveling broccoli into his mouth, and Selwyn gave her a warm, loving smile.

They passed a peaceful, low-key evening just like in the old days, before Brienne had gone off to college. The TV droned in the corner, providing background noise, as Selwyn did a crossword puzzle with half-moon reading glasses perched on his nose. Galladon put his feet up on the ottoman and read a book. Brienne tried to play sudoku on her phone, then looking at various social media sites, but the pretense— that everything was fine and normal and she was just visiting her family— was stifling.

“I’m going for a walk,” she said, standing, and practically bolted out the door with Edgar hard on her heels.

It was a balmy night, just cool enough to need the hoodie she’d grabbed— Gal’s, it turned out— on her way out. It had been like that when she and Jason had been on Dragonstone, and the reminder was all it took to bash through the fragile barrier she’d constructed to keep from weeping. But it was dark, and she was alone except for Edgar, and he wouldn’t judge her.

She sat down on a bollard and let herself cry.

But even as she cried, she couldn’t stop thinking about him, wondering what he was doing, missing him and hating him and hating herself for being unable to stop loving him. She felt carved out, hollow, an automaton somehow running without any engine or gears.

For a long time, the only sounds were her quiet snuffling and the lapping of the sea against the dock. Eventually came the faint crunch of steps on gravel and Galladon joining her. He sat on the bollard on the other side of the pier without a word, just bending to shake Edgar’s paw when it was offered to him, and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“So you know that new neighbor I was telling you about?” Brienne began. He hummed in affirmation. “We fell in love. It took us a while to realize… but we did. And then I learned that he’s been lying about his identity the whole time.”

Gal did not turn from gazing out over the water. He shared Brienne’s feelings about honesty and openness.

“Oh,” he said.

They sat there another while, perhaps an hour, in silence, until it got too chilly and breezy to remain and Edgar was starting to look sadly toward the house, where he dearly wanted to go to sleep.

Brienne and Galladon walked back up the path. Inside was dark and quiet, Selwyn having gone to bed long before since he was up with the sun each day. They climbed the stairs and when they separated to head toward their respective rooms at each end of the hallway, Gal caught her arm in his huge, gentle hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said, giving her arm a little squeeze. The look in his eyes, so like her own, was sympathetic and understanding.

“Thanks,” Brienne mumbled, patting his hand before pulling away.

Her eyes were sore from crying, and her cheeks all blotchy, so she splashed her face with cold water until the swollenness and heat had dissipated somewhat. She settled into her bed, on her side with Edgar curled in the crook of her knees, and stared out the window at the night sky. Tarth had little light pollution and sometimes it seemed as if every single star in the heavens was visible from her bedroom. That night was one of those times, the sky heavily spangled with flickers of silver. She wished one of them would guide her toward what she ought to do, because she had no idea whatsoever.

She longed for Jason— _Jaime_ — as much as she wished to avoid him. She was desperate to return to King’s Landing, and never wanted to set foot in it again. Some stubbornly lovesick part of her kept bringing to mind all the things she’d fallen in love with— his sweetness, his generosity, his cleverness, his sense of humor— and was just as often rebuffed by a ragged chant of _but he lied, he lied, he lied._

“How could I ever trust him again?” being the issue utmost in her mind, of course, but it was always accompanied by “He didn’t respect me enough to be honest” and “He didn’t trust me enough to know his true identity” and “He was going to keep lying to me indefinitely.”

And then, of course, her heart fought back with the memory of his face, as crystal-clear in how it was imprinted in her mind’s eye, of his apprehension and pain. She’d hurt him terribly, leaving him, and that hurt her in turn, just as much. Even as she was angry and confused and resentful, she positively ached knowing that she had hurt him. Knowing that, at the moment, he was likely in bed himself, alone and just as miserable as she was.

 _I’m never sleeping apart from you again_ , he’d declared, and they were already on night number two of being separated.

Unbidden, tears came again, trickling over her nose and into the pillow. With a whimper, Edgar clambered over her legs to cram himself between her and the window sill, shoving his furry face right into Brienne’s. With a damp smile, she gave him a hug and pulled him closer to her chest. He gave a happy sigh and rested his head on her arm, starting to snore almost immediately.

Sleep did not come so easily to Brienne, however.

.

~*~

.

The next day passed much like the one before, with Brienne puttering around the house, then around Evenfall, in a futile attempt to keep occupied and her mind off Jaime. Wherever she went, people exclaimed to see her again, asking how she was doing in ‘the big city’, how her job was, if she’d taken up with a nice man. For the first time, the inquisitiveness of small town living got on her nerves, and the provincial attitudes seemed simplistic and naive.

 _Just like I was, when I left_. Tarth hadn’t changed without her… but she had changed without Tarth. They didn’t fit anymore. _I belong in the city, now._ Her stubborn heart added, _with Jaime._

When she couldn’t make herself pretend to smile any longer, she fled to the marina and sat on the edge of the farthest pier, half-hoping her father wouldn’t find her there and half-hoping he would.

He did.

“Well, my girl, how’s today going for you?” Selwyn’s ruddy face was sweat-damp despite the coolness of the autumn day, and he pulled a bandanna from a pocket to mop his forehead after he sat beside her on the weathered boards.

“Oh, fine,” she said, but her tone was listless, and he picked up on it right away.

“So,” he began, and she knew he’d decided it was time to discuss Jaime. “About this man trouble.”

Brienne knew that if she protested, her father would accept it, but… it was time. The longer she held it in, the more concerned he’d be, and keeping it to herself did her no favors. Only prolonged the inevitable.

“You and Mom…” she began. “I think I was spoiled by how well you two worked together. I thought that that level of trust and love was how everyone was. I didn’t realize it was special.”

Selwyn gazed at her for a long moment before giving a huff of laughter.

“It was special,” he agreed, “but not rare. Lots of people have what your mother and I did. But it wasn’t perfect… though that’s how you seem to view it, all these years later. No, we had our share of problems. We fought plenty. We just did it behind a closed door so you and Gal didn’t see it.”

Brienne stared at him in shock, decades of belief in their flawless marriage crumbling around her. “Then… what did you do?” she asked eventually. “How did you make it work when there was so much disappointment? So many problems?”

“Way I see it,” he replied slowly, “is when people are hard to love, you love them harder.”

She frowned, confused. “What do you mean, love them harder?”

He sighed. “Brienne, people are just human. No one’s perfect except the Seven, and even They have Their off days. People are going to make mistakes. They’re going to hurt and disappoint us. The only thing you can’t forgive is when a person hurts you on purpose, not caring what damage they cause.

“If they’re hurting us because they’re clumsy, or unrealistic in how they think things will happen… if they’re doing their best but failed— if they had good intentions, or were misguided but meant well— then they need you to love them more, not less. That’s the only way you make it through the hard times together. If they’re good people, in spite of the bad they’ve done, they deserve more than you giving up on them. You have to love them harder. Otherwise your love is conditional, and that’s not worth calling ‘love’, to my way of thinking.”

“What about lying?” she whispered, confused, and more frightened than she wanted to admit to herself.  A brick had shaken loose from the foundation of her beliefs. “What if you trust someone completely, and they know you do, and they lie to you anyway?”

“Then I’d ask myself why,” Selwyn declared. “I’d ask them why, too. Sometimes there’s a darned good reason for it. Remember that book you had to read in school? The one for your High Valyrian class? About the miserable people?”

“Se Mundagon Mēre*?” Brienne said after a moment’s thought, squinting at her father. Now what was he rambling about?

“That’s the one!” he said, snapping his fingers. “Well, remember the poor bastard who was the main character? Sent to prison for stealing?” He smiled fondly. “I remember you stomping around the house, furious they’d jail him for it.”

“His sister’s children were starving!” she said hotly, indignation at the injustice of it burning just as brightly more than a decade later. “He was desperate!”

As soon as she said it, she knew exactly what he intended; her breath shuddered in her lungs as all the fragmented pieces of her heart went still in shock and realization. Tears threatened, hastily blinked back.

“Desperate people commit desperate acts,” Selwyn told her softly. “That man who stole the bread… if that detective had loved him harder— if the detective had helped him, shown him some mercy instead of arresting him— then the man wouldn’t have wasted his life in prison, and his sister and nieces and nephews… well, they probably died, of starvation or the cold or both. All those lives ruined, because one man couldn’t see past the sin to the purity of the motives for it.”

Brienne was weeping openly by that point.

“That’s no way to live. You know better than that, my girl,” he said, bringing up a battered hand to wipe at her cheeks with great tenderness. “I raised you to know right from wrong, but not to be so married to it that you can’t figure out when mercy is called for. Are you going to love him harder, or are you going to spend the rest of your life without him, both of you miserable, because you couldn’t scrape up any forgiveness for a desperate man?”

 

* The Miserable Ones, or Les Miserables.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still fighting this weird neck/shoulder problem so IDK if I'll be able to keep up the weekly updates of this in future. I'm sorry for any potential delays, but if you notice next Friday passes without and update, that's what's happening. Bleh.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like this chapter! Thank you to everyone who reviews, it helps me know I'm getting things right :)
> 
> Thanks as always to the best of betas, sea_spirit :)

.

~*~

.

Brienne didn’t answer, couldn’t speak, and after a few minutes of silence, Selwyn hauled himself to his feet and ambled back to the house, knowing when his daughter needed some time alone. Brienne didn’t know how long she sat there, staring at the sun’s path over the water, caught in a mighty internal battle between the convictions she’d always thought right and what her father had just revealed.

She quivered on the edge of a precipice, barraged by memories of Jaime. The months they’d known each other, she’d seen him a hundred different ways, in a hundred different moods, and every one of them truly seemed to be the real thing… with the sole exception of his identity. In every other way, Jaime had peeled himself bare before her, hoping she’d care for him despite the ugliness he revealed.

And she had; oh, she had. She still did, had no hope of denying it. Despite the sarcasm, the bitterness, the despondency… the brilliance of Jaime’s soul shone through in a way she had no defenses against. If it were all true— if she could trust that he’d only told her one desperate lie, but all the rest was real—

She’d thought herself so righteous, so justified. She’d so bravely taken a chance on him and ended up wounded and wronged, betrayed and deceived. Victimized, even. And instead of rallying to meet the challenge head-on, she’d cared only about her own pain and fled from him. The memory of how he’d clung to her, during their first hug, her comprehension of how starved he was for affection… how their weekend on the yacht had been so full of love and passion… they way he looked at her, as if stars shone from her eyes… how gentle, sweet, patient, generous, affectionate, tender, flirty, naughty, and teasing he could be, and all of it for her… In spite of all that, of the huge wealth, the glorious bounty that was Jaime Lannister…

She’d abandoned him.

Knowing how terribly Jaime had been hurt, how rejected he’d been by his father and twin, how alone he had felt until meeting her. How she was the only one he felt safe enough around to be his true self, instead of the gleaming Kennos doll his family seemed to want him to be, performing exactly as they wished and happy to be placed in a drawer until the next time they wanted to play with him. Knowing all that, still she’d left him, not even permitting him a chance to explain.

 _But he lied,_ wailed some stubborn sliver of her heart, somewhere in the deepest part of her. _He lied, he lied, he lied_. The conflict between that shredded red mass of hurt and betrayal warred with her longing for him, her need to accept any justification just so she could be with him again. Her mind comprehended his rationale and motives, but her heart couldn’t stop wailing _I don’t understand how he could have lied to me, if he loved me. I don’t know how to trust him again._

Brienne cried until her eyes were swollen and her face was hot, her breaths ragged and her chest sore. The noise of her sobbing had probably carried far over the water as sound was wont to do, and she could not find even a scrap of give-a-damn anywhere in her, though she did feel bad for her father and Galladon for having to field the barrage of questions about it that would come the next day.

The next day. _I have to go back._ She couldn’t keep herself in this state of limbo. Could not continue to weep and mourn and yearn. One way or another, she had to make a decision, choose a direction, and move on.

Standing, she returned to the house and fell onto the bed, Edgar snuggling up beside her, but the nap she intended never came to pass. She spent the rest of the day lost in thought, but managed reassuring smiles at her father every time he glanced at her in question.

“Y’okay?” asked Galladon, and nodded after her ‘yes’, and that was all he needed to know.

After a dreamless night, she awoke late, and feeling just as exhausted as she had the night before, but dragged herself to the shower before packing.

Selwyn and Gal were unsurprised when she announced she was leaving.

“Call and let us know what you decide to do,” was all Selwyn said. Beside him, Galladon nodded. “We’re always here, if you need more time away. Or just to visit,” he added with an impish grin, incongruous on his craggy features. “You can come for more than just to have a place for a mental breakdown, you know.”

“You’re a pain,” Brienne muttered, but her hug was fierce as she put her arms around him.

“I’ll visit,” said Gal when it was his turn for a hug.

“When?” she asked, a bit shocked. Her brother hated cities in general and King’s Landing in particular. But he just shrugged, and that was all she could get him to say about it.

She and Edgar boarded the ferry. Somewhere, Brienne found it in her to offer her uncle a smile in return to the one he gave her.

“Thought you were staying ‘til the end of the week,” commented Uncle Endrew as he tossed the last mooring onto the dock.

“Changed my mind,” she replied. “I— I left something important behind.”

“I know how it is,” he replied, not without sympathy, his gaze knowing. No doubt Selwyn had given him a vague explanation for Brienne’s surprise presence on Tarth. He was family, after all.

Brienne and Edgar went to the ferry’s bow and turned their faces into the blast of the wind as they embarked. She scarcely felt its chill. She was headed in the right direction, now. She wasn’t quite there, yet, but just a little more time… a little more thinking, of coming around to such a radically different way of believing, and she’d be there. And she wasn’t going to waste that time slouching around Tarth; no, she would use it to travel closer to Jaime, so that when she got there, it wouldn’t take as long to reach him.

_Just a little longer. Give me just a little longer._

.

~*~

.

As soon as Brienne got home, she dumped her bag on the sofa, gave Edgar a can of food and fresh water, and headed right down the hall to Olenna.

“You were right,” she admitted as soon as she’d entered the Tyrell matriarch’s lair. “About Jaime.”

Olenna tilted her head back, surveying Brienne in silence for a long moment as they proceeded at her snail’s pace to the living room.

“Ah,” was all she said eventually.

Olenna motioned for Brienne to take a seat. The old woman eased herself into her plump armchair, folded her arthritic hands, and ran a sage eye over her guest without speaking.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Brienne asked pathetically when she could bear the silence no longer. “About who he really is?”

The maid presented herself at the door between the living room and kitchen, quivering alertly. Olenna commanded tea be brought before returning her piercing stare to Brienne.

“I was curious about what he was attempting,” Olenna said at last. “Our families have known each other for many years, socially and professionally. They’ve tried their best to match the Tyrells, to overcome us, but…” She spread out her hands to indicate their lavish surroundings. “As you can see, they failed. They will _always_ fail, because their coldness renders them blind to human nature. They try to impose their will upon others instead of working with inherent human weakness to get what they want without using force.”

Brienne stared at her. “ _What_ are you talking about?”

“You catch more flies with wine than vinegar,” said Olenna succinctly. “We Tyrells use wine. Lannisters drown everyone in vinegar and tell them it’s Arbor gold. But it doesn’t matter if you’re choking on vinegar or wine, does it? You’re still drowning.”

Brienne certainly felt like she was drowning, had felt like that since the day she’d met Jaime. First, she’d drowned in attraction to him, then in love, and now… the pain had settled down from the full rolling boil it had been but it was still a constant presence, simmering in the background.

“As for Jaime…” Olenna began, but the maid emerged from the kitchen with a tray.

The tea set quivered as she carried it in, each piece emitting a delicate chiming _clink_ as it rattled against its neighbor. The maid set it down on the coffee table with exquisite care before fleeing back to the kitchen. Olenna rolled her eyes and gestured for Brienne to do the honors.

“As for Jaime, he’s always been a different sort of Lannister, even as a boy,” she began as Brienne prepared the tea. “I could tell at one look that he did not have what it took to keep up with the rest of them. Tywin is pure ice, ambitious beyond reason. Cersei burns like a wildfire out of control— they’ll have to put her away one day, mark my words— and Tyrion’s smarter than all the others put together, and determined with it.

“But Jaime is… he has the fire, and he’s bright, and determined, and even ambitious in his way, but he lacks his father’s coldness. His sister’s imbalance. His brother’s bitterness. The others are all sociopaths— well, perhaps not Tyrion, not entirely— but… if Tywin and Tyrion are the brains of the Lannister operation, and Cersei is the reproductive system, then Jaime is the heart.”

Olenna’s gaze drifted from Brienne; she stared off into the distance, her attention distracted. “If he’d been born a Tyrell, or a Stark, or even a Martell… gods, what a man he could have been. What he could have accomplished, with the right family to nurture his talents, to encourage him in his strengths instead of beat him down for them.”

Her eyes returned to Brienne, sharp and piercing. “He’s the best of all of them. He has a conscience, and principles, and they think it’s weakness and despise him for it. I’ve seen and heard them insult him many times, when he protests how ruthless they’re being. That’s how he lost his hand, you know.”

Brienne sat bolt upright from her slouch into the sofa, tea sloshing over the cup’s rim to splash into its saucer. “What?”

“Loras’ boyfriend is Cersei’s goodbrother, you know.” Olenna smirked and tapped the side of her nose. “He has the inside scoop on the whole mess.”

Even only six months ago, the mention of Renly would have had Brienne coloring and flustered in memory of her infatuation. Now, the thought of him left her unflustered in the extreme. “Tell me,” she urged.

“Apparently the foreman of the Castamere mine had been warning of structural problems for years,” Olenna began in a gossipy tone. “Tywin was tired of hearing about it, so he assigned Cersei to look into it, which of course she did not do. It fell to Jaime. He investigated, found it was months— or less— away from collapse and rashly promised the foreman and miners that changes, improvements, would be made.”

She took a sip of tea and her face shifted from avid to grim.

“Well, Tywin and Cersei were not pleased— to put it lightly— that he’d commit the company to investing millions in the mine’s infrastructure, especially without asking their permission first.”

“Was he— was he not high-up enough in the company?” Brienne asked, confused. How low-ranking must he have been, to require their approval for his decisions?

“Oh, he was chief operations officer,” Olenna replied casually. “Tywin’s the CEO, Tyrion leads finance, Cersei runs marketing…”

“Jaime was second-in-charge… and he had to report to _marketing_?”

“No, he had to report to _Cersei_ ,” Olenna corrected. “Cersei could be the lowest clerk in the mailroom, and she’d still expect everyone to report to her.”

“Even her own brother?”

“ _Especially_ her own brother.” At Brienne’s confused expression, she sighed. “Cersei is a terrible person. Before, when I said they’ll have to commit her eventually… it won’t be for a nervous condition, or depression. It will be because she finally lost the last shred of civility she pretends to have and went on a destructive rampage.”

The look in Olenna’s eye spoke of gleeful anticipation of that day.

“So he promised repairs.” Olenna resumed her tale. “But Tywin and Cersei were not having it. Not only did they forbid anything from being improved, they insisted Jaime return to the mine personally to share the bad news with the miners. Their little way of punishing him for his daring… make him be the one who had to reveal himself as a liar to people who put their trust in him.”

Brienne’s breathing had gone shallow a while back; at that, it ceased entirely. How he must have dreaded it, traveling there; how terrible he must have felt, watching the hope on the miners’ faces die as he revealed to them that he could not follow through on his promises. How impotent and useless, too; COO and not allowed to do even that much?

“Well, the mine collapsed while he was there, in the middle of it,” continued Olenna matter-of-factly. “Hundreds were caught in it. Dozens died. And Jaime’s hand was crushed beyond salvation. His family put up an appropriate facade of dismay and worry for the press, but Renly says the moment they were all behind closed doors, Cersei and Tywin had nothing but impatience and contempt for the fix Jaime had gotten them into.”

“That _Jaime_ had gotten them into!” Brienne exclaimed, setting her cup down on the table with a clatter. Her sense of outrage and justice had been steadily ratcheting higher as Olenna had spoken, but at this, it shot into the stratosphere.

“Tyrion was the only one who supported Jaime through the half-dozen operations he underwent to try to save his hand, and the last surgery to remove it entirely when the others didn’t work. Tywin and Cersei said they were too busy cleaning up Jaime’s mess to waste their time on hospital visits.”

Brienne sprang to her feet, too agitated to remain seated, and began pacing around the room while wringing her hands to keep from using them to break something.

“So however awful the world thinks the Lannisters, however much they’ve hurt the Starks, or those miners…” Olenna began, trailing off.

“They’ve hurt Jaime more,” Brienne finished bleakly.

 _No wonder._ No wonder he’d been frantic to hide his connection to them, no wonder he’d been afraid to reveal that he was one of them, and that she’d shun him if she knew. And she was ashamed to admit to herself that… she probably would have. She wouldn’t have seen his tender heart, his sense of humor, his brightness, his desire to belong somewhere safe; would have passed it all by because of a hated name and tarnished reputation.

“Oh, my dear,” Olenna said kindly. It was only when the old woman held out a box of tissues that Brienne realized she’d begun weeping.

She took one and mopped at her face, dropping down on the sofa so heavily that it gave a protesting groan. Olenne shot her a warning glance before resuming.

“Jaime dropped out of sight, after that,” she said. “It was put about that he was simply recuperating from the accident. Tywin tried to pretend that Jaime hadn’t lost his hand, and it would have worked if Jaime had not… gotten fed up, I suppose you could say. He sent out a very quiet press release saying he’d resigned from Lannister Enterprises, and that was it.”

“Renly said that Tywin and Cersei were fit to be tied. For the first time ever, Jaime was not bending to their will, obeying their commands. Tywin kicked him out of his apartment, which was owned by the company. He moved in with Tyrion. Started that charity, with the printing… I don’t know what that’s about.”

She waved her hand, clearly confused about the particulars of twenty-first century computer technology.

“It’s been two years since the accident. I couldn’t believe my eyes when he moved into this building, but…” She shrugged one shoulder, still impossibly elegant even at her advanced age. “I was glad to have a front-row seat for whatever came to pass because of it.”

She sipped her tea, her faded brown eyes twinkling over the cup’s rim at Brienne. “And I have not been disappointed in the least,” she finished.

Brienne went cold. “You’re not— you’re not telling anyone about this, are you?” she whispered in horror. _Please don’t betray me as well, I can’t take it happening again, please don’t—_

“No, no, this is just for my own personal entertainment,” Olenna assured her, looking at her in concern before learning forward and refilling her teacup. “Drink.”

Brienne drank. She also ate a cookie at the old woman’s demand. Soon she felt better and relaxed— as best she was able, which wasn’t much— once more.

“That charity event is tonight,” Olenna said conversationally. “Loras and Margaery and Renly will be there.”

“…oh?” replied Brienne politely. _She can’t expect me to go to it, can she?_

“It would be an excellent opportunity to meet Jaime’s family,” continued Olenna. “Get to see what Jaime has been dealing with these last thirty-five or so years.” Her gaze was keen as she aimed it, laser-like, at Brienne. “It wouldn’t do for you to make a decision without having all the facts, don’t you agree?”

Though she phrased it as an inquiry, there was no question as to the answer.

“Um,” said Brienne reluctantly. “Yes. Of course.”

“Excellent.”

They chatted a bit more, but it wasn’t long after that when Olenna stood, a clear indication that their chat was over. “Do let me know how it goes, won’t you?”

“Uh. Yes. Yes, I will.” Brienne let herself be herded out of the apartment and stood there in the hallway for a moment after the door had closed, wondered what had just happened.

She was dazed by all the information that had been thrown at her, confused— how was she expected to get into the Lannister gala? She had no invitation— and starting to panic. Had she really just promised she’d go to a formal event? She rushed into her own place, scrabbling for her phone as she went.

“Robb,” she bleated when he answered her call, “please tell me you don’t already have a plus-one for the Lannister thing tonight.”

“I don’t already have a plus-one for the Lannister thing tonight,” he replied promptly, but his tone said he was laughing at her.

“Be serious!” she exclaimed, flinging wide the doors of her closet to survey her meager options. “I have to go with you.”

“You… do?” He sounded more than a little puzzled. “You hate formal events. Have said multiple times you’d rather fake your own death than attend one.”

“I have to go,” she repeatedly miserably, winnowing down the wardrobe choices. “I promised Miz Olenna.”

He whistled. “Sucker. Why do you keep promising shit to everyone?”

“Because I’m an idiot.” She had a dark blue silk wrap dress or a light blue silk wrap dress. They were the only things that made her look even remotely feminine. She chose the dark blue; it would help her blend more into the background. Or, rather, it would help her stand out less; there was no ‘blending in’ when one was six-foot-three and built like one’s favorite linebacker.

“You really are,” Robb agreed blithely. “Well, okay, fine, I’ll break Theon’s heart and tell him he can’t come with me—”

In the background, she heard Theon mumble, “Whuh?”

“—but somehow he’ll make it through this vale of tears we call ‘life’ despite missing it.”

“Where was I going with you?” Theon persisted.

“Tell you in a minute. Anyway, Bri, be ready for seven o’clock. We’re due there by eight.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” she replied fervently. “I owe you big.”

“You really do,” he agreed, then gave an evil-sounding cackle and hung up.

Brienne sighed and headed to the shower to begin her pointless attempt to gussy herself up into something passably attractive. It would fail, but… she’d still try. She had to go, and she had to look appropriate. She had to see for herself what could be so bad about Jaime’s family that would justify his compounding lie after lie after lie. Her conscience and broken heart would not let her rest until she could put her doubt and confusion to rest. She had to know.

She just hoped she was strong enough to bear what she learned.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel kind of bad that I won't be fulfilling the expectations that some of you have mentioned in your comments... hopefully what does happen will make up for it? In any case, I hope you enjoy this chapter. 
> 
> Thank you to those who wished me well with my shoulder problem. It's mostly resolved now, no more pain but 2 of my fingers have gone numb so I'm still dealing with that. It impacts my typing so I can't promise that chapters for this or anything else will be on time. I know Desperado is still languishing and late... I'm sorry :( But thank you for your patience while I figure out how my body is being weird this time. 
> 
> And gratitude as always for sea_spirit, the sweetest beta anyone could ever ask for.

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~*~

.

“We’ll see you again later,” said Margaery as she kissed the air by Brienne’s cheek, then gave Robb a kiss that landed very specifically on his cheek, quite close to his mouth. Her smile was stolen right off the face of a cat who’d got the cream. “Don’t have any fun unless we’re around to see it.”

Loras and Renly also bid Brienne and Robb farewell before sauntering after Margaery. Brienne was, frankly, glad to see them go. She did not want to be there, and her tenuous facility for smalltalk had been expended within the first two minutes of socializing. She wanted to observe Jaime’s family in their natural habitat and get the hells out of there. Feeling awkward and spectacular— in the sense of being a spectacle, and not of the good kind— she nervously worried at her belt, then her neckline, ensuring it had not migrated east or west of her cleavage to reveal anything it shouldn’t have.

“Brienne. You look _fine_.” It was the fourth time Robb had said it, but she couldn’t stop fidgeting, and it had little to do with her looks, for once. She was in a room full of Lannisters, the very thought of whom reminded her of Jaime. Her heart still felt like a raw, gaping wound even after almost a week. This was the last place in Westeros she wanted to be, having to pose and smile for charity _again_ — even as an adult, she couldn’t get away from it.

Robb fetched them each a glass of wine and Brienne gratefully gulped at hers, hopeful it would help the lump in her throat dissolve. One glass was all she’d permit herself, and only slowly. She needed to be alert in what Miss Olenna had warned was “a nest of vipers”.

“Don’t let them fool you for a second,” the old woman had advised toward the end of their conversation. “Don’t buy the sleepy, benevolent lion act. Every person in that room would slit your throat to cut in front of you at the grocery store. They don’t give a damn about the charities they donate to; they don’t even care about each other. They protect the name, not the person.”

She’d aimed a sly glance at Brienne that had her squirming on the rose-pink velvet sofa.

“That’s why _your_ lion has distanced himself from them. They’re so ghastly that he couldn’t take it anymore, and good for him. I have hopes his brother will come to his senses one day, as well.”

“He’s not _my_ lion,” Brienne had managed to say. Just barely. “I never had a lion. I just had Jason. And he’s gone.”

Olenna had just primmed her mouth at Brienne. “You’ll see what I mean when you get there and meet them. Then you’ll be running back to Jaime, begging _him_ to forgive _you_ for ever holding his sins against him.”

But so far, everyone seemed perfectly nice. Improbably good-looking, though she was fairly certain a goodly number of them had been surgically enhanced to be so attractive. It was clear, however, where Jaime got his handsome face and tall, well-proportioned body from. Overall, the Lannisters were an uncommonly beautiful bunch, though if he and Olenna were to be believed, the beauty was all on the outside and none of it within.

Robb, of course, fit right in, with his gorgeous face and engaging grin and brilliant Tully-blue eyes and russet curls. Brienne caught more than a few leonine lovelies scoping him out. The scoping was immediately followed by confusion and derision and amusement when the lovelies clapped eyes on his homely companion, their reactions so pronounced that it was comical, and Brienne began giggling behind a hand as it got more and more blatant.

“What’s so funny?” he asked around the canape he’d just popped into his mouth. “Or maybe the question should be, ‘how much of that wine have you drunk?’”

“Just the—” she looked at where she’d set her glass. It was empty but for a scant puddle in the very bottom. Hm, she’d drunk it faster than intended. “Just the one glass. But that’s not it.”

She gestured with her chin in the general area of the young women who’d been keeping such close tabs on him and reacting with such amazement to her.

“They’re shocked and appalled that such a hottie like you is here with… whatever I am.”

His eyebrows flicked upward. “With the best vet in the city and a good friend and overall terrific person? Yeah, what the hell am I doing with the likes of you?”

Brienne rolled her eyes at his sarcasm but gave his forearm a quick squeeze of gratitude. “Thank you. But you know what I mean.”

“Yeah. I know,” he sighed, and pointedly turned his back to them to face Brienne directly. “Whatever. We’re here to enjoy all the free food and liquor we can hold, glad-hand the people who decided we’d be their pet charity for the year, and maybe try to wrangle more money out of them.”

He gave a hitch of the chin, himself, at a fellow who seemed to lack a chin. Older, of medium height and rail-thin, there was something of the weasel about him rather than the lion.

“Bet you that guy is here for the same reason,” Robb concluded.

But he was wrong; as the evening progressed, and they grew more and more full of crab puffs and mini-quiches and, yes, wine— Robb wore her down by begging her not to let him get tipsy by himself— the Lannisters grew more and more collectively drunk, and that meant it was time to mingle with hoi polloi. Weasel Man approached them with a woman who had the distinctive golden hair of many around them, but her plump figure made her seem vastly more approachable than the other nipped-and-tucked matrons in the room.

“Genna and Emmon Frey,” announced the woman, who seemed to be the spokesperson of the two.

“Robb Stark, Brienne Tarth,” he introduced them to the mismatched couple.

Genna Frey gave a little start. “Tarth, you say?” She narrowed her eyes at Brienne, scrutinizing her, then elbowed her husband. “Emmon… Tarth. Why is that name familiar?”

 _Because there’s an entire island named Tarth?_ Brienne sipped her wine, exchanging an amused glance with Robb.

Emmon, who’d been gazing blandly around the room as if only nominally paying attention to their conversation, tilted his head back and closed his eyes, deep in thought.

“Outstanding work advocating for animal welfare,” he announced after a moment, then went back to gazing disinterestedly at their surroundings.

“That’s it!” rejoiced Genna, beaming. “Emmon’s good at remembering things.” Her tone suggested that might be the sole area of his expertise. “Yes, my dear, you have something to do with animal welfare, do you not?”

“Uh,” Brienne said. “Yes. I’m a veterinarian. So is Robb.” She gestured to him. “The animal clinic and shelter we run is non-profit. Why?”

“We— Emmon and I— started a non-profit charity of our own recently,” replied Genna, a speculative gleam in her eye. “Very, very recently. It provides scholarships, before and after graduation, to people particularly deserving of them.”

“…yes?” Brienne replied, feigning interest, confused. “What does that have to do with me?”

“Your name was recently put forth for our consideration,” said Genna. “For— what did you say, Emmon? Outstanding work—”

“Advocating for animal welfare,” her husband patiently supplied once more. “Granted it, didn’t we? Last week?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “You should be receiving the letter any day now.”

“Um,” said Brienne, feeling slow and dim in her confusion. “I’m not sure why you picked me, of all the people who needed the help, and I’m sure most of them needed it more, so I feel a little bad that I got it instead, but—”

She stopped suddenly, because a soft and plump little hand came to rest on her arm.

“Dr. Tarth,” said Genna, “it is entirely our honor to help you. Your nominator sung only the highest praise about you, insisting there was no one more deserving.” She gave a little laugh. Her smile wasn’t the arch, practiced smile she’d worn at first; it had become something gentle and kind and _knowing_ , somehow. The rings on her fingers— all of them emerald, like her eyes, her _very familiar_ eyes— catching the light, and suddenly Brienne knew that Jaime had been behind it, somehow.

A complicated blend of amusement and irritation and affection twisted through Brienne and the urge for some blessed solitude to process it all, after an evening surrounded by glamorous strangers, gripped her.

“Thank you,” she said politely. “Please excuse me. I’m going to step out for a moment.”

The others all nodded, though Robb’s frown indicated he knew something else was up, and she effected her escape. A discreet inquiry to one of the tuxedoed staff directed her to the ladies’ room. It was cool and quiet, not too brightly lit; perfect. She sank down into the plush sofa of the lavatory’s antechamber, put her elbows on her knees, her face in her hands, and just… breathed for a few minutes.

Her first impulse was to be irritated by yet more evidence of Jaime’s duplicity and his use of her name without her knowledge or permission. At the same time, she was incredibly touched that he’d care enough about her struggle to pay her student loans that he’d go to the effort of submitting her name for a scholarship.

But she didn’t know how many more discoveries she could take, of his tricks. She knew, she _knew_ , that had she not learned of his true identity, when the Freys’ letter arrived telling her of the scholarship, he’d feign knowledge of it, or admit to submitting her name but denying his connection to his aunt and uncle and any part to their granting it to her.

 _Motives, my girl,_ Brienne could almost hear her father saying. _Why’d he do it? Was he trying to hurt you, or help you?_

To help her, of course. All he’d ever done was want to help her, make her happy, make her life easier.

And he had done all of those things, since the first moment he’d entered her life. All he’d ever done was love her, in the best way he knew how. It wasn’t his fault that 'the best way he knew how' was the exact worst way Brienne knew how.

He deserved the opportunity to change. If he was going to make an effort and disrupt everything he knew about relationships in order to adhere to what Brienne wanted of him… for all the love he had lavished upon her, she owed it to him. _And_ herself; refusing to give him that chance would punish her just as much as Jaime.

Maybe they both deserved the chance.

The alternative was a future filled with the same misery she’d felt— that she knew Jaime was feeling— for the last week. The pain might fade, might eventually taper off, and then they’d be left with the void that came from knowing love and losing it. Even more than she wanted it for herself, Brienne couldn’t do that to Jaime. He was made for love, to give it and receive it. A life without it would kill him. Not in body, but in mind and heart and soul.

For him, for the man he was, the past he’d suffered, the goodness in him, the love he’d shown her… she’d do it for him.

Determination burgeoned within her. She extracted herself from the bounty of cushions and went to the sinks. Her lipstick was long gone, of course, and her forehead was shiny, so she blotted it with a paper towel, then extracted her compact from her clutch bag and patted on some powder.

She was just reapplying her lipstick when the door swung open and in sauntered the most beautiful woman in the world, or so it seemed: not too tall, not too short, her perfectly proportioned figure had been poured into one of those bodycon ‘bandage’ dresses displaying shapely hips and a bosom like to have been carved by a very generous god. Its hem had a demure little ruffle, a sly wink pretending that daintiness was an addendum to the sheer sexiness of the rest of the garment.

The dress’ dark red color was the exact shade of the wine they’d been drinking, and it set off the woman’s creamy skin and golden hair to perfection. She wore a necklace of gold and rubies that lovingly curved into the deep cleft of her breasts, and matching bracelets around each slender wrist. Her face was a sculptor’s dream, the curves of cheekbone and temple and chin and nose stunning in their purity and symmetry, and her eyes were the same green Brienne had seen in Genna only minutes earlier.

 _And_ in her brother, a week earlier, for this could only be one person. Sharpen the angles, tweak the features to a more masculine cast, and… it was Jaime, but in female form.

“Cersei,” Brienne whispered before she could stop herself.

“Yes?” The woman asked diffidently, too absorbed with adjusting the fit of her skin-tight dress to look at the person sharing the restroom with her. “Have we met?”

Her tone was imperious, impatient, and those eyes had nothing of Genna’s liveliness or Jaime’s humor. And certainly none of the emotion she’d seen in them. They were chips of deep green ice, lacking even the warmth and fire inherent in an emerald. Lifeless stone held more humanity than this woman.

Then she glanced up. As she scrutinized Brienne, her face gained an expression of incredulous contempt. Brienne knew how she appeared; incredibly tall, her figure one big rectangle, the face atop it best described as ‘unfortunate’ and hair like straw arranged into a facsimile of a mid-length bob. The effect, as always, was baffling and unsightly and Brienne felt the familiar clutch of despair in her chest at the utter unfairness of it all. She had believed her resentment banished with the passage of her college years but… evidently not. Apparently, she still harbored such bitterness about something she could do nothing about. Futile, pointless, wasted upset… Brienne’s specialty.

“No,” she said at last, remembering that Cersei had asked her a question. “I just… know who you are.”

It appeared a reasonable answer, one Cersei accepted without comment. She laughed, the cold sound ringing off the restroom’s marble-paneled walls.

“Gods, for a second I thought you were a man,” she said. “I wondered if I’d have to fight off a pervert.” She flicked a speculative glance over Brienne. “I’m not going to have to, am I?”

Brienne must have developed some sort of expression of distaste because Cersei laughed again.

“Not one for the ladies, then?” She ran another dismissive look over Brienne’s form. “You poor thing. I don’t know how you bear it.”

Though the words might have— generously— been considered compassionate, there was nothing of compassion or even pity in Cersei’s tone or expression, just amused scorn.

Cersei must have perceived Brienne’s lack of response to be answer enough. She turned to the sinks and gazed at herself with appreciation and satisfaction, turning her head back and forth to ensure no angle went without inspection before extracting a tube from her tiny bejeweled clutch and slicking a little more crimson gloss onto her already-perfect mouth.

“Just making sure everything’s as it should be,” she commented. “In the heat of the moment, things can get smudged or disarranged…” Her gaze met Brienne’s in the mirror and she smiled again, putting Brienne in mind of a lioness just before tearing out the throat of her prey. “You know how it is. Can’t look anything but perfect.”

Brienne wondered how terrible it must be for someone to care deeply about this woman’s opinion, to seek her approval but be met with such cruelty. She meant nothing to Brienne and her presence still felt like being scoured by sand. To want her love, yet receive only malicious ridicule…

What a terrible person Cersei was. How awful for Jaime and Tyrion to have had to endure her their entire lives. And, being her twin, Jaime had suffered especially. Brienne could only imagine what it had to be like, being paired so closely with someone so incredibly awful. Knowing Jaime’s need for affection, for approval and inclusion, and the depths of his sweetness and generosity… it must have been agony.

Something shifted within Brienne, something she’d thought solid and hard but which turned out to be malleable and empathetic and compassionate. She’s always been a sucker for a hard-luck tale, and when it was Jaime’s hard luck… no matter how betrayed she felt, and deceived, no matter how angry and hurt she felt… she loved him. Would always love him.

Cersei stood there, a golden brow arched haughtily as she awaited Brienne’s reaction to her comment.

“I think we might have different definitions of ‘perfect’,” Brienne managed to say, and escaped past Cersei to the corridor, through the cloud of sensual perfume wafting from the other woman. She didn’t want to be there when Cersei came out again, but where to go?

There was a supply closet right next to the restroom, if the door’s label were correct; Brienne wrenched at the knob, found it thankfully unlocked, and slipped into the dark space just as she heard the faint squeak of the restroom door swinging open.

In the close, chemical-laden air, Brienne breathed quickly, distressed beyond belief. For Jaime.

 _No wonder,_ she thought. No wonder Jaime had wanted to distance himself from his family, if Cersei was part of it. No wonder he’d wanted to be someone else. No wonder he hadn’t trusted a stranger with his real identity, and then become afraid to reveal the truth. He’d feared rejection just when he’d finally come within reach of the acceptance and love he’d always sought.

When she deemed it safe to emerge once more, she slipped unobtrusively back into the banquet room and slunk about until she caught the flash of auburn hair. She saw the Tyrells and Renly across the room but carefully avoided them, moving around the other way until she reached Robb.

“There you are,” he said in relief when she joined him. “I was beginning to think you’d ditched me here.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” she protested. “Just met Cersei Lannister in the bathroom.” She had explained the whole messy story to him on the ride over.

“Would that happen to be the Night Queen, over there?” he asked, gesturing with his wine glass at where Cersei was holding court a dozen yards away. Surrounded by a bevy of sycophantic ‘friends’ and hopeful suitors, her gleaming smile and flawless body were displayed to best advantage. She tossed an errant lock of spun-gold hair back over her bare shoulder and trilled a tinkling laugh.

“I think the Night Queen might be warmer,” Brienne muttered.

“That bad?”

Brienne tried to hold it back, truly she did, but in the end her opinion just burst free. “Robb, she’s awful.” She took a deep breath, trying again, but… “She’s just _awful_.”

 _Poor Jaime_. More than anything, meeting Cersei had cracked open the last thin shell of Brienne’s misgivings about giving Jaime another chance. The last of her anger at him melted away, burned off by the fierceness of her outrage on his behalf. If that brittle, gelid creature was who he had turned to for the care and support one might reasonably expect from a sister… yes. She understood, now. Understood the hope and desperation and fear that had motivated him to lie, her heart cracking right in two at the thought. She never wanted him to have felt them, but she couldn’t change that.

_I can change what happens next, though._

“I have to go to him,” she said, the words coming tentatively and gaining strength as she went along. “He… he needs me.” She turned to Robb, shoulders going back as if to face a wall of oncoming foes. If ever there were a time to be brave, this was it. “I need him.”

“Took you long enough to figure it out,” he replied dryly, but there was a gentle affection to it. “I think we’ve pressed enough flesh. Want to get out of here?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Brienne said with feeling. Not only was she eager to get started on finding Jaime, but she couldn’t wait to get away from the Lannister pack and out of her increasingly uncomfortable dress. Nervousness had made her sweat and the silk was clinging to her shoulder blades. She longed for a shower. No, a bath, a nice long hot one to wash away the taint of avarice and cruelty that pervaded the banquet hall. Somehow, Brienne would find a way to shoehorn her too-large body into the bathtub.

They began to make their way toward the exit but found it slow going through the dense crowd. As they squeezed past another laughing cluster of lions, Brienne caught snippets of various conversations.

“—can’t believe she’s wearing those rubies. I hope they’re insured—”

“—gods, do _not_ eat the crab puffs, I just shit my guts out—”

“—you know Jaime will never forgive you for this.”

Brienne did the walking equivalent of screeching to a halt. _That was Tyrion’s voice._

“He’s long past due to end this idiocy,” said an older man, haughty and cold. “I’ve let him have these years to come to terms with the loss of his hand. He has indulged himself with this prosthetic charity long enough. It’s time for him to see reason and return to take his rightful place, to prepare for when he is to replace me.”

 _That’ll be Tywin, then._ A lump of ice seemed to have formed in Brienne’s belly as she listened to the man’s easy cruelty. She craned her neck, her height giving her the advantage in locating both him and Tyrion and found them feet away. She flung out an arm to stop Robb, pulling him nearer and creeping closer for a listen.

“Because there’s no one else suitable for the role, according to you,” Tyrion commented, bitterness plain in his voice.

“Cersei does not have the… temperament to take over,” Tywin said blandly.

“Yes, if only you had a third child who had proven himself more than equal to the task.” There was a thread of incredulity to Tyrion’s angry voice.

How could he still be surprised by his father? The man could not have turned this horrible overnight. Tyrion had to have been already aware of Tywin’s disdainful unconcern for anyone’s feelings. How could Tyrion still expect anything else?

“In any case,” said Tywin, brushing right past his younger son’s sour words, “Jaime never forgives me for anything. I’m long accustomed to it.”

His tone was supremely indifferent, a despot sighing wearily over a report of yet another slave uprising, and the filament-thin tether Brienne had over her temper snapped.

“Maybe you should stop doing unforgivable things to him, then,” she said, not bothering to lower her voice in the slightest.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kind reviews, I'm so pleased you're enjoying this story! This is the second-to-last chapter, just one more to go and then we're done! 
> 
> I'll be doing Camp Nanowrimo in July, and planning for it the rest of June, so besides finishing up Desperado and Wanted, I won't be putting out any more fanfiction for a while. I hope you subscribe to my author page so when I come back with more, you don't miss it.
> 
> I'll have more information about what my next new fic will be next week, the last chapter :) Thanks again!

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~*~

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Robb stared at her over the rim of his champagne glass, which he was in the process of finishing. He halted mid-motion at her words. “You never do anything by half measures, do you?” he mumbled, then drained his glassand straightened up. “Alright, let’s do this.”

A warm burst of affection for him filled her as Brienne fixed a gimlet eye on the pair of Lannisters, who were clearly startled: Tywin, that she’d chosen to be contentious, and Tyrion, that she was there at all. She had no doubt that they were unused to anyone calling Tywin on his foulness.

”And you are?” drawled Tywin, his tone and cadence specifically chosen to tell her exactly how insignificant her identity— nay, her entire existence— was.

“Brienne Tarth,” she announced, sure he knew precisely who she was, and yes, behind that bored façade was recognition.

“I wasn’t aware you would be here,” Tywin said coolly, “nor even that you’d been invited.”

He slanted a look at his youngest child, clearly holding him responsible for the omission.

“You insisted that the animal clinic people be here for the PR,” Tyrion informed him, lifting and spreading his hands as if presenting Brienne and Robb as gifts. His smile was somehow both nasty and innocent at the same time. “Aaaand here they are.”

Tywin’s frigid gaze raked over Brienne again before shifting to Robb. Another glint of recognition sparked in his frosty gaze. “A Stark? Here?” he said, in the same tone one might say, ‘A dead woodchuck? Under _my_ front porch?’.

“Robb Stark, to be specific,” said the man himself, making no effort to offer a hand to shake. “The polar opposite of a pleasure to meet you.”

Their interaction was starting to gain attention, and Brienne could see the speculative glances directed their way from the corner of her eye. And here came Cersei, prowling closer, looking mere seconds from attack.

“ _You_ again,” she said to Brienne as she arrived at their little knot of people. “Who _are_ you, anyway?” Her eyes took in the entirety of Brienne, from ugly face to oversized feet and every unfortunate characteristic in between. “Why would anyone even invite you? You’re enough to put someone off their food.”

Brienne felt Robb, close at her side, tense up, but she pressed her elbow gently against him to let him know it was fine.

“I have no control over how I look,” she said evenly. “But I can choose who I am. I try to be a good person, not…” She trailed off, uncertain how to adequately describe the sheer awfulness of the Lannisters before her. Even as angry as she was, it was not her nature to name-call or insult. She settled for waving her hand to encompass Cersei and Tywin.

“A sociopath?” suggested Robb helpfully.

 _That sounded about right._ “It’s no wonder Jaime pretended to be someone else,” she couldn’t help but say. “I’d be ashamed to have any connection with you, too.”

Tyrion shot her an affronted look and opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.

“The best you could muster in his defense was ‘he’ll never forgive you’ instead of trying harder to protect him,” she told him, darkly pleased as his face went slack with shock, “so I’m not all that impressed with you, either, right now.”

Cersei’s hand was twitching, as if she’d dearly like to hit Brienne, and Brienne just as dearly wanted her to, because she was itching to give her a good slap in recompense. Not at full power— she didn’t want to _kill_ the woman— much— but… only enough to sting a good long while. Maybe bruise a little.

“Robb, I’m sorry if this messes up the rental agreement,” she said. “If they put back the rent increase, I’ll pay it out of my salary. Or we can move to another building.”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” he said easily. “I don’t want any connection with _Lannisters_. Should have known that deal was too sweet. There’s always some catch when you deal with them.” He swept the trio of them with a scathing, contemptuous glance and Brienne was wildly proud of him. “Always something rotting beneath the pretty surface.”

 _Not_ _always_. She thought of Jaime. _Sometimes_ _underneath_ _is_ _pure_ _gold_.

“Can we go?” Robb spoiled the effect he’d created by whining. “If we leave now, I bet I can get home before Theon finishes the whole bag.”

Briennerolled her eyes, but agreed, turning her backon Tywin, Cersei, and Tyrionwithout further ado.

But then she stopped and turned back. She was relieved to see Cersei and Tywin stalking away, offense and rage clear in the stiff lines of their shoulders, but she needed an answer to the question of Jaime’s location, because Olenna had mentioned that he’d been gone for days.

“Tyrion, where is he?”

He was silent, and for a moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. But at last he replied, “Ask Addam.” And he, too, strode off.

Relief was a cool trickle down Brienne’s spine. _Jaime has_ _gone_ _to the farm._ He’d needed the comfort and love Juanita and Peachy and Rosy and the ducklings would show him, the comfort and love she had denied him.

Robb led the way toward the exit, reaching his hand back, and she took it with immense gratitude, needing the human contact to ground her. The entire experience felt surreal, like she’d stepped through a mirror into another world where the warmer emotions were liabilities instead of assets.

Outside, the temperature had dropped, and the chill was welcome, clearing Brienne’s head and firming her resolve.

“I probably won’t be back at work on Monday,” she said as they arrived at Robb’s car. It chirped as he unlocked the doors.

“Oh?” He paused to slide into the driver’s seat. “Color me unsurprised.”

She couldn’t help the sheepish grin that took over her face. “I’m sorry?”

“No, you’re not,” he shot back, easing them from the parking spot and navigating out of the lot. He was grinning back, though. “And you shouldn’t be. There are more important things.”

 _Yes_. _And Jaime is one of them, the most_ _important_ _of them all._

“Besides,” Robb continued, “Jeyne worked out well last week. I’m sure she’ll be happy to sub for you this week, too.”

“What if she isn’t?” Brienne fretted, pricked by her conscience.

He shrugged, unconcerned. “Then I’ll be really busy and tired and probably bitch about it when you do get back.”

“I’ll be ready for it,” she said, her voice wobbly with emotion. “Bitch away.”

“If you cry, I’m dumping your ass off right here,” he warned, but there was humor in it.

Brienne frowned. “I wasn’t going to _cry_ ,” she protested, somewhat dishonestly.

“Shyeah.”

“Ugh, you know what? Let me out. You’re too annoying to share a car with.”

“Then you’ll just complain about freezing to death on the walk home. No way.”

They bickered happily the whole way back to her apartment building, and when she got out, she leaned over to peer into the car.

“Thanks, Robb,” she said quietly. “I mean it.”

He gave an embarrassed shrug. “It’s fine.”

She couldn’t keep from smiling. “See you when I see you.”

“Not if I see you first,” was his pithy comeback, and he purposefully tweaked the volume setting on the radio. It emitted a deafening blast of some godsawful Dothraki razorgrass tune. Brienne stepped back, slamming the door with haste, and he peeled away, the pounding bassline of the song thudding through the night air.

She hurried inside and upstairs, eager to strip off the hated dress, shower, and get to sleep. The sooner tomorrow came, the sooner she’d be together with Jaime again.

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~*~

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The next morning, Brienne was up early. The only animal she had with her was Edgar, and she wavered back and forth on whether or not to drop him at Robb’s until she returned to King’s Landing, but ultimately decided to bring him along. If things didn’t go well, she’d need the emotional support he’d provide.

She packed her overnight bag— the same one she’d brought on the yacht only a week earlier— with enough things for a few nights; no telling how long she’d be away. Her chest was bound up tight with nerves; things could go well, and they could go catastrophically wrong. What if Jaime had decided that, since her love seemed conditional, he didn’t want her after all? She wouldn’t, couldn’t, blame him.

If that were the case, she would just love him harder, and if that didn’t work, harder still, until he forgave her for leaving him as she had.

She and Edgar were on the first train going west. The concessions lady rolled by with her cart but Brienne was too anxious to eat anything, only sipping at some iced tea in futile hopes it would settle her stomach. It was a bit past noon when they arrived at Sarsfield, and within a half-hour they were in a minutely small, wretchedly uncomfortable rental car and headed due north up a pitted, twisting road. She hoped her GPS was not lying to her about the location of the farm, inputted from the information she’d been given about where the animals had gone to live, because she was doubtful the compact car would survive a second trip down the rural lane.

“Turn left,” the GPS intoned, and Brienne swung the car in that direction, only to jam on the brakes when she realized what she was looking at.

 _Sapphire Grange_ , read the sign, parti-color in sky-blue and rose-pink. The _i_ was dotted with a sun, and the _G_ was comprised of a crescent moon with a horizontal line through it. Brienne stared at it in astonishment for long seconds, during which she could not breathe, and sucked in great lungfuls of air as she began to weep.

Not sad tears this time, nor betrayed or hurt or fearful. This time, the tears were purely joyful, and she gave herself over to them, freely sobbing with relief. Jaime _loved_ her, with the kind of love that didn’t stop because she’d run away in shock and pain. And she loved him, too, with the kind of love that didn’t fade because he’d made a few crucial errors in judgment.

When her crying wound down, she scrubbed her sleeves over her eyes to mop them dry and tilted her head back, feeling the sun on her face until she had calmed. Edgar pawed at her arm, looking worried, so she gave him a good scritch and a kiss on the forehead.

“I’m fine,” she told him with a last pat as she slotted the car into gear and began to drive once more. Unlike the disreputable road leading to it, the farm itself was in superb condition, but that didn’t surprise Brienne; of course Jaime would keep it in excellent shape. With a crunch, she brought the car to a stop in the gravel parking lot and unfolded herself from its tortuously small interior. Edgar bounded out and went to dampen a nearby sapling, but she made directly for the tidy little main building.

Inside was a young man, skinny and brown-haired, tapping with two fingers at a rapid pace at a computer.

“Ah,” he began with a smile, turning to her, “I’m sorry, we’re closed today.” He handed her a pamphlet and pointed to the box on the front displaying their hours of operation.

“I’m— is— can I— Jaime?” She stumbled over her words, suddenly awkward and unsure of what to ask.

His eyebrows flew to meet his hairline. “One second, I’ll be right back.” And he vanished through a door at the back.

But he did not return; instead, it was Addam who appeared in the doorway.

“Brienne,” he said warmly, smiling as he came forward. “You sure took your time getting here.”

She blinked. “I… did?” How did he know she would come to the farm?

“He showed up here two days ago and has been moping ever since. Been waiting for you to come and make everything right in his world again.”

“But— why—”

“Why would I think you’d show up?” His grin was suspiciously Lannister-like in its smugness. “The way you look at each other? I doubt you can survive apart, at this point.” His grin gentled. “I’m glad for you both. He deserves it, after what he’s been through, and if he loves you, you must deserve it, too.”

Tears threatened once more. Brienne blinked furiously and averted her eyes to try to hide it, but Addam huffed a soft laugh.

“Come with me,” he said, and led her out the back door.

There was a neatly raked red stone pathway meandering around and between the various buildings, and Addam listed what purpose each served as they walked past.

“We kept all the animals when Jaime bought the place,” he said as they walked through the barn, Edgar trotting alongside. “It was on its last legs, hardly anything left… only a dozen dairy cows, a handful of chickens and geese, a few goats and pigs. Donkey or two. It’s turning into a nice little petting zoo. People can milk the cows, collect the eggs, even muck out the stalls if they want.”

He waved a hand at the corral, where the cows were placidly milling about. “We’re going to let the kids start churning butter, soon, and when we get a few horses, do horseback riding lessons. Perhaps even a cooking school for children in a year or two. All non-profit, all targeted to disadvantaged children, and…” He paused and added meaningfully, “…none of them have to pose for photos if they don’t feel like it.”

 _Well, hells._ Brienne felt her face crumple into an ugly cry and turned abruptly away from Addam to conceal it.

“That sounds great,” she said after she managed to control herself, but her voice was clogged with tears, a dead giveaway. Tactfully, and to her gratitude, he did not remark upon it.

Addam led her along the side of a spacious, rambling farmhouse. “There,” he said as soon as they cleared the corner, and pointed.

A vast meadow stretched before them, dotted with trees and carpeted with wildflowers. Beneath the largest and most shady of them sat Jaime, leaning against its trunk, watching the animals frolic about. Peachy and Rosy gamboled among the wildflowers with Pod, Juanita raced gleefully after the ducklings— who were now fully-grown ducks— and on a blanket at Jaime’s side, Cersei curled protectively around her half-dozen babies, all of whom were peacefully enjoying an early dinner.

Despite the happy scene, there was something infinitely weary, dispirited, about Jaime’s posture that clutched at her heart.

“Shhh,” Brienne told Edgar, hand on his head, not wanting him to bark and alert Jaime to their presence. She heard, rather than saw, Addam leaving, likely knowing that her reunion with Jaime was something she wanted to happen privately. With a swallow, she began to approach.

The flowers and grasses made a whispery _shoosh-shoosh_ sound as she walked through them, and she thought he’d have realized she was there, but she made it all the way to his tree and he still hadn’t turned to her, or stirred at all. _Maybe he’s asleep_ , she thought, but then he reached out to pet Cersei, his movements listless, and guilt barraged her once more.

Throwing back her shoulders, Brienne inhaled deeply and forged ahead.

“So,” she said conversationally as she dropped to sit beside him in the lush grass, “do you own the yacht, too, or did you just charter it for the weekend?”

His head whipped around, his whole body jerking in shock, and he stared at her in poleaxed silence for long seconds. _Too_ long. Brienne was starting to think she’d made a grievous error— miscalculated the extent of Jaime’s devotion and capacity for forgiveness— when he gave a little cough to clear his throat.

“A little of both, actually,” he rasped. His eyes, as green as the meadow around him, seemed to burn as he watched her, unblinking. “It’s owned by Lannister Enterprises, and I chartered it at the family discount rate.”

“Ah, so, only a thousand dragons instead of ten thousand, huh?” she made herself quip, trying desperately to be lighthearted and teasing when in reality it felt like the fate of the world rested on how she selected each word.

His mouth curled in that little half-smirk, where he was amused by her and also charmed by her naivete. Or at least that was how he had put it, when she’d demanded to know what he was thinking when he did it.

“More like only ten thousand when the going rate is twenty,” he drawled with a hint of his old relaxed humor, though he was still as tight as a bowstring.

Brienne heaved a theatrical sigh. “I’ll never get used to how you rich people just throw money around.” And… that wasn’t really a joke. She never would be accustomed to the practice of chucking twenty grand at a weekend trip without a care in the world.

The other side of his beautiful mouth curled in amusement before it faded from his face. “Brienne. Why are you here?”

It wasn’t said in a hostile way, more a tired and resigned one, as if he were convinced she’d only come to deliver a final blow before leaving him for good. He’d accepted that it was over, that she didn’t want him, and the thought of leaving the farm without him, of never seeing him again, struck her like a mule’s kick to the chest.

 _No_ , said her heart, and her mind and soul and everything within her, every cell, every molecule instead straining toward him. The thought was agony. _Nonononono._

And in that moment, Brienne knew that she had to find a way to reconcile them, had to, had to, had to.

 _What do we say to the_ _god of death?_ Arya was fond of posing as a rhetorical question.

 _What do we say to the end of our_ _relationship?_ Brienne thought. _The end of our_ _love?_ _The end of our_ _happiness?_ _The end of our_ _chance for a future, for marriage and children?_

She wasn’t going to let it finish like that.

What do we say?

_Not today._


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last chapter! Hope you like it!

.

~*~

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“I love you,” she said on a gasp, as the twist in her lungs dissipated.

“I love you, too.” His smile in return was ghastly, the most agonizing thing Brienne had ever seen. “But it’s not enough. It’s never enough. I don’t know why my instincts are so bad. Any time I rely on them, I fuck it up. I fuck everything up.”

Brienne ached with guilt for having put him through such unhappiness.

“ _No_ ,” she said forcefully. “You’re lumping in what… happened between us, the pretending… with how things are with your family. It seems like you had to fight between your conscience and doing the wrong thing, as they wanted. You shouldn’t have to change basic parts of yourself to be loved by your family. And if that’s what they expect, they don’t deserve that love.”

Jaime was so still it looked like he’d shatter if she touched him.

“And I can’t expect you to have the same outlook, the same beliefs, as I do,” she continued. “In my family, we don’t talk much, so what we do say means more. Being able to trust each other, knowing that the others are being honest with us… that’s a big deal for us. I think we attach more importance to it than most people do. We— I— don’t take into account that sometimes there are extenuating circumstances, that life isn’t only black and white.

“I’ve been lucky, in my friends, because they’re all the same way: all there is, is black and white. So I forgot about all the shades of gray, about how sometimes people do wrong things for the right reasons, and that sometimes people try their best but fail anyway. And that it doesn’t mean those people are bad, only… more complicated than I’m used to.

“I judged you based on how I was raised, and I had no right to do that. I can’t expect you to give up everything you are to meet me all the way on my side.”

“I will,” said Jaime hoarsely. “Just… tell me what to change and—”

“ _No_ ,” Brienne said again. “I have to meet you in the middle. If that means loosening up my expectations, letting you teach me other ways to be, that’s what I’ll do. If that means letting you explain yourself, that’s what I’ll do.”

She framed his face with her anxiety-chilled hands. His beard was soft against her palms, his skin warm, and his eyes were a brilliant green as he stared at her, scarcely breathing. His hand came up to bracelet her wrist, lightly at first, and then harder as he clung to her.

“You deserve me to bend to you, too, Jaime. We can compromise. We can meet in the middle. I’ll need you to have patience with me, when I get angry because I’m naive and ignorant. I’ll have patience with you, when you do things with weird motives I don’t understand.”

She paused a moment before continuing.

“And I want you to forgive me.”

He froze, somehow going even more still. “Me… forgive _you_? For what?”

“I shouldn’t have rushed away like that,” she said. “I should have given you a chance to explain. I should have trusted you to have a valid reason for what you did. I should have— I should have loved you harder. I didn’t love you when you needed it the most. You deserve better than what I gave you and I’m… I’m very ashamed of myself. For failing you.” She stopped to catch her breath before continuing in a very small voice, “I don’t know how to be in love, and I failed you.”

“You didn’t fail me,” he said shakily. “You never could. If anything, you keep exceeding anything I could hope for you to be. Every time I think _this is it, this will be the thing that makes her hate me_ , you don’t. You just… love me more. Every time.”

“I’ll always just love you more.”

He went to take her in his arms, but she stopped him with an outstretched hand.

“But I need to know… are there any more lies, Jaime? I need to know all the things you’ve said and done but pretended you didn’t.”

“Well, you probably know that I bought the farm so the animals would have somewhere to live,” he began haltingly. “I mean, I hadn’t when I told you about it… that night, after we came back from the park, I found it online and bought it. I knew Addam was looking for work and thought he’d be a good manager, so…”

“Sapphire Grange,” Brienne murmured. She’d never dreamed a man could love her like Jaime did, that a man could hold her so high in his esteem. She leaned in and kissed him, but pulled back when he tried to deepen it. “What else?”

“The clinic… I had to do some fancy footwork with my father, to finesse the rent to something more bearable.”

“Your father,” she muttered darkly, not realizing she’d begun grinding one fist into the opposite palm until Jaime’s hand pulled one free and dropped a kiss on her knobby knuckles. “Be prepared to hear from him. I, uh, might have told him off last night.”

Jaime blinked at her in dawning horror. “You went to the gala?”

Brienne nodded. “I met your father, your charming sister—” he flinched at the mention of Cersei “—and your aunt and uncle.” She smirked. “A scholarship program, huh?”

He had the grace to blush a little in embarrassment.

“Yeah, I was getting to that,” he mumbled, ducking his golden head. “I knew you wouldn’t let me give you any money for your student loans. So I—”

“You convinced your aunt and uncle to give me a scholarship from their charity.”

“No.” He looked even more abashed. “I created the charity and convinced them to put their name on it.”

Her eyes bugged out. “ _Jaime_.”

“I don’t want you to struggle!” he burst out. “I don’t want you to be worn down by something when there’s no need for it!”

He still didn’t get it, but she hadn’t explained it to him in enough detail, she supposed. With a deep breath, she said the little speech she’d figured out on the long train ride west.

“Jaime… I love that you want to help me so much, that you want to spare me from stress and problems. But you need to understand. I _need_ you to understand. There are going to be a lot of times where I do things the hard way, the unnecessary way, because it’s the _right_ way, as I see it. And I know you won’t agree with me, that it’s right, or that I have no choice, but… I’m still going to do them.

“And I will need you to accept it, and not fight me about it. You can offer to help, but if I say no… it’s no. And you can’t go behind my back to create situations that I’ll accept the help in, as you’ve been doing all along. That’s lying, and trickery, and I won’t have that. I _can’t_ have that. I can forgive you for what you’ve done up to this point because you didn’t know any better, but… I’m telling you now. You know better now.

“I won’t be able to forgive it again, Jaime.” She held his gaze for a moment, needing him to understand and absorb her words. “I love you. But I can’t be with someone I don’t trust. Because if I can’t trust you, I can’t respect you, and if I can’t respect you… I won’t be able to love you. That’s how this will end, if I give you another chance and you keep on as you have, tricking me as you have. With me disappointed, falling out of love with you, leaving you.” She sucked in a deep breath. “And I don’t want us to end that way.”

“I don’t want us to end at all,” Jaime said hoarsely. “I— I do understand now. I’m sorry I didn’t understand before. You— you’re everything to me, every single thing in the world. I want to _give_ you the world. I want you to be happy. And if I can make that happen by throwing money at whatever is making you unhappy, I want to do that, too.”

Brienne dashed a tear off her cheek. “I know you do. And I’m… don’t ever think I don’t love that about you. You’re the most giving, generous person I’ve ever met. But you can’t erase every bad or sad thing, it’s just not possible. Simply helping me through them— without money— is all you can do, sometimes.”

He looked disgruntled about it, but nodded. She grinned.

“So… what do you think? Are we agreed? No more behind-the-scenes benefactor stuff on your part?”

“I have a few conditions,” Jaime informed her, his tone cool, but she could tell he was joking. “One… you let me buy things, or pay for things, sometimes. Or at least make things easier for you.”

She raised her eyebrows in inquiry. “Such as what?”

“Such as, uh, buying you a building to put the clinic in.” He paused, turning his head away, squinting into the sun, a tension to his shoulders telling her he was waiting with trepidation for her answer. “Because I bought you a building to put the clinic in.”

Brienne blew out a breath, torn between amusement and resignation. She opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it.

“But I was going to tell you about it, really! I just figured that after the year of cheap rent was over, you’d want somewhere more affordable. This place is bigger, and you wouldn’t have to pay rent at all. If you insist, you can pay the property taxes, but–”

“Jaime, you’re…” she began, but couldn’t help herself; he was ridiculous, in the best way. She burst out laughing.

Jaime’s apprehension shifted to surprise, and relief, and joy. He grinned at her in pleasure, looking thrilled in a way she had long recognized: he was delighted he had made her laugh.

All the ruckus had garnered the attention of the frolicking animals, who stopped to look at what was making so much noise. When they recognized Brienne, there was a visible shock wave through them, and then with a cacophony of ecstatic oinks, bleats, and quacks, they all converged on her.

Peachy and Rosy tried to climb all over her, as did Juanita, but her cart kept her from it. Brienne picked her up, coaxed the goats to settle down to either side of her, and the ducks all clambered into her lap. She petted each of them, kissed their heads, and breathed through the barrage of guilt she felt for letting them be taken to a new place, to be cared for by strangers.

When she looked up from the animals, she found Jaime watching her with that familiar glow of love in his beautiful eyes.

“I’m what?” he prompted, his voice tender, and a rush of love threatened to bowl her over.

 _You’re gorgeous,_ she thought, _and wonderful and annoying and sweet and_ _mine_ _. You’re mine._

“You’re about to inform me of the rest of your conditions,” she said instead.

“Ah, right.” He swallowed. “Condition two: the next time you’re angry with me— and you know there’ll be a next time, I’m a giant pain in the ass—”

“Don’t have to tell _me_ that,” she muttered, but shot him a grin.

He flashed her a narrow look that quickly melted into one of sober earnestness and continued, “—you have to promise you won’t run away again like that, and refuse to talk to me.” He paused. “That felt— like I was dying. I don’t think I can take that again.”

Guilt and regret bombarded Brienne. “I’m s—”

He held up a hand. “Later,” he said. “My last condition is that you marry me.” At her indrawn breath, he rushed to continue, “I love you. I want to be a— a unit, together, with you. A family. You, me, the animals, the children we’ll have… I want to be a _we_ , an _us_. We can be the Tarths, or the Lannisters, or whatever you want, but… I need that.”

When she didn’t respond right away, he hurried to continue, “Not immediately, if you don’t want. We can be… engaged to be engaged, or have a long engagement until we finally get married, but… I need that understanding between us. I need that security.”

 _Of course he does._ It made perfect sense, for a man who’d never felt secure in love, who’d never been able to trust in it, and for good reason. They’d all failed him, his family, and so had she.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I accept your conditions.”

Jaime let out a relieved breath, and Brienne realized for the first time how tense he had been, his shoulders up around his ears. He looked down, blinking rapidly, but when he looked back up, his smile was brilliant.

“Come here,” he said, and she went gladly into his open arms.  

He kissed her, or maybe she kissed him. It didn’t matter, only that his lips were on hers, moving, caressing, so tenderly that Brienne thought she could _feel_ the love between them as a tangible thing.

“I love you,” she whispered against his mouth when they drew apart for a breath. “I’m sorry I left you like that, without letting you explain. I won’t do it again.”

“I love you,” Jaime whispered back. “I’m sorry I was dishonest about helping you. I won’t do it again.”

He lay back on the grass, pulling her with him, and she lay her head on his shoulder, arm tight around his waist, his tight around her shoulders. The animals clustered around them, nestling in close. One of them touched their cold, wet nose against Brienne’s neck and she shivered. Jaime pulled her even closer.

“I feel like I can breathe again,” he said. “Like a weight is gone from my chest.”

“Me, too,” Brienne agreed, pressing her face against the strong column of his neck and inhaling deeply. She’d missed the scent of him so badly. “But...I don’t think we should reveal the engagement right away,” she said cautiously. “My friends are… unhappy with you, let’s say.”

“They want to kill me, don’t they,” he said grimly.

“Kind of, yes.” She pulled back a few inches so she could look into his eyes. “They’ll come around, it’ll only take time, and seeing that we worked things out, and you’re not like your family.”

“So, by the time our second kid is born, then?” he quipped, dropping a kiss on her lips before letting his head fall back to the grass and smiling up at the sky. “Children. I never thought I’d have that, not with someone I loved. Maybe with some rail-thin society woman my father had chosen for me.” He tilted his head to look at her once more. “You’re my salvation in ways you don’t realize.”

“I’m— it’s the same for me, you know,” she said through an emotion-clogged throat, somehow wriggling even closer to him. “I thought my only chance for marriage, for a family, would be to someone who figured my gratitude would make up for my size and ugliness.”

When he tensed, mouth opening to protest, she covered his lips with her hand.

“You know it’s true, Jaime. I know you hate to hear it—” and oh, how her heart rejoiced to know, to _know_ with an unshakable knowledge, that he loved her so much her ugliness became beauty “—but it’s the truth. And it’s okay. I’m beautiful in your eyes, and that’s enough for me.”

She leaned up to kiss him softly.

“Besides,” she added, her tone teasing, “you’re pretty enough for both of us.”

He laughed in that way she loved, eyes closed, head back, the sound pure joy and making her laugh along.

“I knew you thought I was hot, all this time!” he crowed eventually. “You’re such a liar, with your ‘Renly’s the handsomest ever’ bullshit.”

 _I bet you think this song is about you_ , floated through Brienne’s head.

“Just because you’re handsome doesn’t mean he’s not _more_ handsome,” she told him placidly. That vanity thing of his had to be curbed somehow. “If you’re pretty enough for both of us, then Renly is pretty enough for both of us _and_ my whole family, Sandor included.”

Jaime propped himself up on his elbows to stare at her in outrage. “Those are fighting words,” he informed her. “And I will make you not only regret them, but eat them.”

“Is _that_ right…” she drawled in an _I’m humoring you_ voice. “Like to see you make me.”

His eyes lit up at the challenge. “You asked for it.”

And he pounced on her, his mouth hot on her lips, her skin, and his hand was everywhere, seemingly all at once.

“Just you wait,” he panted against her throat, hand delving down her jeans. “I’ll have you shouting _Jaime Lannister is the fairest of them all_!”

“Or maybe I’ll have _you_ shouting _Brienne Tarth is the most patient woman in the world for putting up with me,_ ” she gasped into his ear when his fingers slipped between her legs, finding her wet and aching for his touch. She retaliated by shoving her hand down his jeans, where he was hotly erect, eagerly thrusting against her, begging for her attention.

Jaime groaned and dragged his hand free so he could busy himself with divesting her of her clothing.

Brienne swatted at his hand. “No. Jaime. No.” _Swat, swat._ “What is your obsession with public sex? Is it some sort of fetish or kink? No.” _Swat_.

“You encouraged me,” he argued. “You know you should never encourage me.” He finally managed to bare her breasts to the still-warm autumn sunlight. “Ah, there you are,” he said to them happily.

He bent to lavish them with enthusiastic attention, and Brienne’s head went back at the sensation of his lips and tongue caressing her nipples. _Maybe public sex isn’t so bad_ , she justified, her thoughts hazy with passion, but motion in her peripheral view drew her attention.

The animals surrounded them on both sides, watching them with intense curiosity. Seeing she had her foster mother’s attention, Peachy gave a little hop. Rosy bleated. Juanita oinked, only one tiny little oink, but it was indignant. One of the ducks ventured forth and stuck his beak right in her face, making beady eye contact. Brienne began to laugh.

Jaime’s head came up, his expression disgruntled. “Exactly _what_ part of this is laughable—” he began, but then noticed their multi-species audience. “Oh.”

“Get up,” she said, gasping a bit, and heaved him off of her to sit up and rebutton her shirt.

He rolled to his back, making half the critters have to dance away to avoid being crushed under him, and slung an arm over his eyes. His erection pointed skyward to an impressive degree and Brienne felt a moment’s reckless impulse to ignore the collection of witnesses surrounding them and fling herself onto it, but a screen door banged in the not-nearly-far-enough distance and she got to her feet, grinning.

“C’mon, Pantyslayer,” she said, holding out a hand to help him up. “I am not doing this in the middle of a field.”

He removed his arm from his face and peered up at her, grasping her hand. “Do you promise to let me slay your panties when we get inside?”

She hauled him up. “Bold of you to assume I’m wearing any, but yes.”

His face lit up with unholy glee. “Well, then,” he said, “if you’re not wearing any, you’ll just have to slay mine.”

“I sincerely hope you mean ‘boxers’ or similar,” she said, “but even if not, I think I’m up to the challenge.”

She kissed him, and he kissed her back, softly, softly, softly.

“Yes,” he said, gazing at her with a lambent glow of adoration shining from his face. For her, for ugly Brienne Tarth, formerly destined to a life of lonely spinsterhood. “I think you are.”

And that was how, despite giving up on men, Brienne found the perfect man anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for coming with me on this weird little journey. Your appreciation and kind comments have helped me keep my momentum and enthusiasm going. 
> 
> Enormous gratitude to my betas, Mikki (ikkiM) and sea_spirit, who have been incredibly generous with their time and support. I'm so fortunate they undertook with me, and grateful for their help in improving it. They deserve just as much credit for creating this story as I do.
> 
> My next story will be a time-travel angst fest, probably to begin some time this fall, I guess? It will be a shamleless promotion for my original stories, which I'll begin publishing around the same time.


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